Saving the World One Fresh Breath at a Time
by Hagan99
Summary: Cobra Commander has concoted a dastardly plot to take over the world that has even Destro taking notes. When he involves Xamot, it gets personal for Tomax. It's a race against the clock as the Joes try to foil the Commander's plan. Prequel to BOTD- the mission that got F and LJ together.
1. In the Beginning

A/N: I finally finished Book of the Dead (insert shameless plug: read that one if you haven't) and was ready to move on to some other ideas taking up space in the cloud. Who am I kidding? I'm not that cool. These ideas have been taking up space on the hard drive and probably some floppy disc before that. But faced with the specter of another few years to finish a story, I'm using Nanowrimo as the catalyst to get this one done. One month, no problem! It will either work out ok or be an epic failure of typos and gapping plot holes galore. This takes place prior to BOTD and is in the ARAH run. All non-ownership disclaimers apply. Hope you enjoy. As always, reviews—the good, the bad, and the ugly—are sincerely appreciated.

**Chapter One: In the Beginning**

**Kansas City, Missouri: The Raphael Hotel**

His hand was poised before her door as the age old question—knock or don't knock—circled around in his head. The hour was late. Eleven o'clock the night after an intense assignment was late. Knocking on her door at this time of night was sure to make all sorts of statements and innuendos. One didn't knock on a female colleague's hotel door at 11 o'clock without something more in mind. Typically, he wouldn't meet knuckle to metal unless he believed other things were going to meet. That was his old self; right now he was still navigating the new. He withdrew his hand, scratching at the spot on his forehead where felted wool rubbed sunburned skin. It was a nervous habit, one he didn't even know he had until she pointed it out one day, laughing at its predictability. One scratch meant a pause to figure out the right word, two scratches and he was pondering a paragraph worth of thoughts. Three scratches, well three meant the whole world was about to explode and he was just buying time. Buying time, _sheesh_, he could make a nice down payment on a time share if he stood there any longer.

He raised his hand again, ready to make that decisive move. All he needed was a little forward momentum and deed done. Could he do it?

_Not yet_.

He withdrew his hand wiggling his fingers at his side. No doubt about it, he was in a pickle. When one was in a pickle, it was best to withdraw forces, regroup, and restratigize. An eyebrow went up. Was restratigize even a word? Up went the hand to that exposed patch of skin. He took a step back, assessing the door. As far as hotel doors went, it was serviceable. Giving off the faint aroma of a recent paint job, the metal showed no stress fractures or divots around the handle. The keycard reader was recently installed and he had insisted that she request a fresh card and have it scanned under his watch at the front desk. The clerk had been none too happy about the ensuing check-in pile up, but it wasn't his job to make the clerk happy. It was his job to keep her safe. He was confident no one was getting inside that door unless the current occupant allowed. At least that worry wouldn't keep him up. There had been times when he stationed himself outside her door lest anything unexpected arise. Possessing circadian rhythms that could set the Navy's atomic clock, he always managed to rouse himself and slip away unnoticed before she started her day. He could fool himself and assert he would do the same for anyone on his watch. Truth be told, he wouldn't. It was for her. All for her. And because it was all for her he was finding it increasingly hard to just knock.

What was in a knock? A knock at any other time would be just a knock. Not tonight. Tonight a knock meant so much more. A knock would be serious much the way their conversations had turned as of late. A knock would kick another chink in his armor. He would be exposed and lord knew he hated that. His image was carefully crafted and maintained, a fine veneer hiding fears and complexes from the rest of the world. Although many may accuse, he was no braggadocio. What was that saying, _his mouth was writing checks his body couldn't cash_? Nope, no one would ever say that about him. If he said it, it was as good as the gold standard. It was what he didn't say. It was all the things he chose to keep to himself. A knock could expose that. It could expose his feelings, his self-doubt. Granted, no one staring down the barrel of Baby Jay, his shotgun, would ever suspect that his internal monologues could rival Hamlet's. They could. Yes, his true self was in there, buried deep beneath the man he projected to the world. She was starting to meet the man underneath. He suspected she liked him. Maybe even more than just liked.

They weren't always at ease with each other. In fact, their partnership had a rather rocky start. When Duke informed her of their first mission together, she expressed some displeasure at being assigned to "work with his ego." It wasn't like she had room to talk. His wasn't the only ego known to patrol the base. She'd been up in a few faces as well. First rule of engagement, do not antagonize one half of a deadly ninja duo. No, she could give as good as she could get and he saw in her a challenge, nothing more. Although one shouldn't mix work with pleasure, in his line of work that was pretty much his only option. Sure it led to Red calling him a "big 'ole walkin' horn dawg" in her exaggerated Southern drawl, but facts were facts. He was a handsome man, he saw a certain attraction to her, short hair notwithstanding, why couldn't they be discrete? Unfortunately, she didn't share his world view. Rather than swoon at the thought of him, she was more repelled. Well, as could be predicted, that only fed his resolve. Then it all changed. Back up, it wasn't as if it was a sudden realization, it was more gradual, with the Cobra attack on the Pit serving as the final death knell for his old self. After the attack, her pointed question about his fears caught him off guard. He wasn't expecting that and answered truthfully. She didn't expect him to be so forthright and responded in kind. They each took a step back and established a new baseline. She wasn't just a teammate to conquer, she was a friend. He could let his guard down.

And let it down he did. Where a conversation would have started and ended with a pick-up line, it now began with a question and spun into several days worth of debate. A note in his mailbox would state, "page 36." He knew she wanted to talk about page 36 of the novel they were both reading, the unofficial start to the Joe's book club. Although when Shipwreck took over moderating duties for a spell, the quality of the selections was dubious at best, as became the participants. Eventually books turned to cards and that was the end of their great social attempt to bring literature to the masses. He was at peace with the club's demise. He liked it better when it was just the two of them anyway. He liked having a confidant. He could admit to indecisions. She seemed to know when to comment and when to just listen. Try explaining that to Red. Red would never believe in a million years that she could just listen. But she did. And the more he was with her, the more time he wanted. She seemed to reciprocate that until tonight. Man, what to think about tonight?

The mission they just completed was hard, hard being an understatement. Their mission, which they had no choice but to accept by the way, was to infiltrate and take out a hostile cell that kidnapped some hotel heiress and threatened to blow up part of Kansas City. Mess with barbeque and you had a dog fight on your hands. The terrorists, led by an unstable Russian ex-Mafioso named Igor Stratsky, were holed up in a vacant storefront in Country Club Plaza, an outdoor shopping center with which she had more than a passing familiarity. The plan was to switch her for the heiress, get him the code, pass it to the FBI, and take down the baddies. On the plane ride over she immersed herself in footage of the heiress. A vapid character with a lazy accent and shocking platinum blonde hair, she nailed her. It was so spot-on that he found he was losing interest in her as her. Where she ended and her heiress began was a little too close for comfort. It was only when she gave a wink and a shrug before climbing into the air shaft did the reassurance flow. It was show time.

She managed to finagle her way into Stratsky's lair and he took out the two marks guarding the back door. They met in the middle where she handed off the bomb code and he hooked her up with a wire. He ran the code to the FBI and she resumed the plight of the unfortunate heiress, the bomb's location then revealed by idle chatter picked up on her mic. The FBI took over, defusing the bomb and arresting the rest of Stratsky's gang. Stratsky was found in his make-shift office, passed out in a cushioned leather chair, his oxford shirt unbuttoned and his trousers discarded under the desk. It disturbed him to have the knowledge that Stratsky was a brief man, make that a minimal brief man. He cringed at the unwanted memory. In all the surveillance footage, Stratsky was wearing pants. He wouldn't question how Stratsky came to be; some things were just best left unasked. Still, he felt the return of the restless stir of anger that shouldn't be his. It was anger that first poked up after the Destro mission. The sight of chrome dome kissing her hand was, in a word, maddening. The subtle blush that washed over her cheeks and the nervous school-girl giggle did little to soothe his spirits. No doubt about it, there was a green-eyed monster sitting on his shoulder and he had a feeling that little fiend was going to be there for a good while.

Putting those thoughts aside, the completion of the mission should have been cause for a celebration of sorts. Rather than high-fives and witty banter, she had been quiet. Quiet wasn't really the word he associated with her when dealing with maniacal sociopaths hell-bent on ruling the world through terror and intimidation. No, then she was anything but quiet. But today, after the plot was foiled and the reports submitted, she withdrew into herself and away from him. A nod of the head here, deferring to his judgment there, she was an empty canvass projecting everything away. He didn't like it. When she turned down his invitation to dinner, a real dinner with candles, a tablecloth, the works, he found he liked that even less. Even though she claimed a headache, it came off as a hollow excuse despite her exemplary acting skills. He'd been around her enough to know when she had a real headache. Persistence didn't pay off; she exhibited some frustration that he wouldn't just leave her alone. He wanted to believe they were beyond just leaving each other alone. Sure things were never stated in the declarative. They couldn't. At least that's what he thought. Maybe he was wrong.

Therefore, when she retired for the night, he couldn't follow suit. He couldn't leave it alone and now here he was, hand still in front of that blasted door, thinking of an excuse, anything, just to get inside. The sound of a crash within served as the impetus he needed. Pounding on the door with his fist he called out, "Jaye, Jaye, are you ok?"

Behind the door came the muffled sounds of someone cursing and stumbling, the scritch-scritch as she fiddled with the lock, a whoosh as the door opened a bit too fast and his pounding fist almost socked her. "Whoa!" she ducked, grabbing the doorway with her left hand, raised overhead, head peering out. "Flint? How ya doing!" She swayed in the still air, hovering, hanging by the thread of her arm.

He lifted his hand and scratched three times, the world had gone to hell. The covert operative known as Lady Jaye appeared to be about three sheets to the wind. Her pupils were dilated, struggling to maintain her focus front and center. Her body rocked in the doorway, equilibrium absent. Back to its normal color, her hair was pushed off her face by a white cotton headband. She recently started to let it grow out and he had no complaints about that. The headband served as a frame to a picture that was shockingly bare. Her grandmother always said that a lady was not a lady unless prepared with mascara and lip gloss. It was her guiding principle; he could count on his right hand the number of times he had witnessed her with no makeup. This was now number five. His eyes trailed down her figure. She was swimming in an ancient gray Army t-shirt. Pushed down athletic socks completed the ensemble, all signaling that this was a planned binge.

"What you got there?" He pointed to the arm hidden behind the door.

She giggled and bit her lip, "Nothing."

"Oh, I think there's something," he gestured with his left hand, "Out with it."

With a dramatic sigh, she lifted her right hand, holding a bottle of wine aloft like an Olympic torch. "Ta da! You found me out Mr. Hall Monitor. Are you going to report me?" She waggled the bottle in front of his nose. Her breath had a faint vinegary smell of cheap booze. He felt his balloon deflate. She tripped forward.

As he caught her, "Come on, let's get you in before anyone notices."

Looking left and right, he made sure the coast was clear before dragging her over to the edge of the bed where he plopped her down against her protestations. Surveying the somewhat tidy room, he deemed it to at least be a refined affair. On the desk across from the bed, her dinner was untouched, the silver dome still covering the plate. Refreshments, however, had been served. He picked up an empty wine bottle lying on its side. Not her usual Chateau Margaux, this bottle of red was an afterthought, a means to an end. Taking a whiff, the scent was sharp and pungent. He was by no means a wine connoisseur, but even he could recognize a skunk among the flowers. Making do, her boot knife jutted out of the discarded cork. Classy.

He pulled the desk chair over to the bed, sat down, and faced her. Her shoulders were slumped and she was sucking on her bottom lip, her nervous habit. He weighed his options and decided on a direct march up the center, "Jaye, what's going on?"

Her eyebrows lifted in an act of defiance as she put the bottle to her lips to take a drag.

"Oh no you don't," he grabbed the bottle, a few drops tumbled down her shirt, "I think you've had enough for this evening."

"Hey!" her faced puckered into a pout and she swatted at him.

Flint walked the bottle over to the desk, "You'll thank me in the morning."

Stewing, "No I won't."

Flint disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water. "Here," he thrust the glass into her hand, "drink this." Her eyes remained fixed on him, willing evil thoughts his way. Reluctantly, she obeyed. The better part of her reason was in there, somewhere. Flint just needed to fish it out. "Have you eaten anything?"

A shake of the head.

With a sigh, he got up and retrieved a cold roll from under the plate cover. Although he debated tossing it to her for the needed comic relief, he decided to take it easy on her. This wasn't the remnants of a girls' night out with Courtney and Shana. It was a self-inflicted wound masking a cry for help. Things were going to be more serious than he thought.

He allowed her time to munch on the roll before starting up his interrogation. As the food settled in her stomach, the light, while dim, came back to her eyes and some color flushed her cheeks. He pointed to the roll, she nodded, and he got up to fetch the other one as she polished off the first. She was still drunk, she was still going to hurt, but it would be a more manageable hurt.

As she dove into the second roll, she exclaimed, "I'm drunk."

Flint couldn't help but laugh, "Yes, you certainly are."

She looked forlorn, "And it wasn't even the good stuff." She sipped more water, "But it worked right, I'm drunk?"

"Yes hon, you are drunk."

"Hon?" Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted to the side. The term of endearment was a new addition.

"Figure of speech."

"Oh, ok."

He detected a note of disappointment. It was a slip-up really. They weren't there yet. Not to say he wasn't there and then some, so much so he often had to catch himself from calling her "dear" or "babe" or any number of affectionate terms, but it was the talk, the talk with a capital "T," the talk they should have and needed to have. Life couldn't be so organic when Uncle Sam was paying your bills. If she was in, if she was willing to be in, that would bring up a whole different set of obstacles and complications. But that was for another day. On this particular evening she didn't need an amorous warrant officer; she needed her friend, "Any special reason?"

"Reason?" She exhaled sharply, blowing up on an imaginary piece of hair. She swatted at it, missing her forehead by a few inches.

"For your celebration."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that." A giggle and then her face turned sad and serious. She looked away, "You weren't supposed to see this."

He leaned forward, placing a hand on her knee, "Hey Jaye." She ignored him. "Alison." That got her attention. "Come on, let me in."

"You don't want in on this."

"I do." He placed his other hand on her knee willing her to open up to him.

Shaking her head, she withdrew from his touch, tucking her legs up underneath her frame, "Please Flint, Dash." The name resonated with her. She glanced up at him, "I never call you Dash." She became perplexed, "I don't know why. That's your name. I just never think of you that way."

"Try."

"Dash." A smile, "I like it. Dash." A pause and then a look around the room as she leaned in conspiratorially to whisper, "but I can't call you Dash."

"Why not?" He was slightly amused by her drunken state. She was always so careful and precise with her words. Now it was like he had the inside track to her guarded secrets. He wouldn't abuse it, well, maybe.

"Because Dash is personal." She blew a quick stream of air through her lips, failing utterly in any attempt to blow a raspberry, "Because if I call you Dash then everyone will know."

That perked his ears, "Know what?" Perhaps he could salvage something out of this night.

"Oh you know," she blurted out, falling back into the safety of the comforter, wrapping her arms tight around her chest.

Flint couldn't help himself and he crawled onto the bed, sliding up next to her, resting on his side, staring down, "Tell me." It took all his self control not to trace the outline of her face.

Her heart began to beat in her chest, not that it wasn't beating before. It was only that she was now acutely aware of its presence and its response to Flint's voice and the nearness of his body, more particularly, the closeness of his lips. His lips. His whole face consumed her thoughts from the crinkling around his eyes when he smiled, a big genuine smile, to the way his right ear was slightly bigger than his left. All those things were magnified by his presence next to her on the bed. Her mind went spiraling and an _Oh god_ crowded her thoughts because he was there, next to her, on a bed. A bed! She tried to think of something else, anything, anything to get _that_ out of her head. Tonight wasn't supposed to be about that. It was supposed to be about, _that_. Her runaway brain screeched to a halt and she physically reacted, pressing down on her chest, willing her emotions to keep in check. It was too late. The tears started.

"Hey, Alison, are you ok?" _Stupid question_, he grimaced and reached over, brushing a tear away from her cheek. Unable to speak, she shook her head no and turned away from him, hugging herself, giving in to the pain. He felt helpless, much as he did when he watched her disappear into the ventilation system, the sunlight gleaming off of her patent leather pumps until all he could see was a void of blackness. Now with her back turned toward him, the silent sobs racking her body, he didn't want to be helpless anymore. He understood the parameters of their missions. She would be the one putting herself out there. As a tactician, he accepted that. He understood where they were strong and where they were weak. With her skills, it was crazy to do anything but what they did. But now, privately, he wasn't content to stay away from the field. He wanted in. Reaching over, hesitant, his hand hovered above her for a few moments, knowing that once he crossed the line he would never go back. As his hand plunged through the invisible plane separating the business from the personal, he sensed a metaphysical pop. He touched her forehead, his fingers tracing the outline of her face, willing to take her pain and make it his own. Her body relaxed and she shifted in to him, her back nestled against his chest. He was tense as he felt out the situation. Laying his head down, he extended an arm and she rested her head, clutching his hand in her own. His other arm draped over her side, reassuring, protecting. There they remained until she spoke.

"Seventeen years ago my father took the family with him on a business trip to Milan. He didn't like to travel alone, said he'd done too much of that in his life, and always saw each trip as a potential adventure. We saw the best of the world and the worst. He held nothing back. But I didn't join everyone on this particular trip. Summer camp hadn't let out yet so I stayed behind with Grandmother Hart. I'd fly over the next week. School came first." She lowered her eyelids and scrunched up her mouth in an imitation of her father, her pointed finger emphasizing every word, "Education is an opportunity we don't take for granted."

"First order of business for them was a visit to a recent acquisition of Hart Industries, some textile manufacturing plant on which my dad had set his sights. It was in a more ragged section of town he thought could benefit from some capital infusion. Being a businessman, he also thought it was in a prime location to supply last minute orders for Milan's fashion week. He had all sorts of ideas for that factory from retrofitting it to running a resource collective to encourage workers to submit designs.

"Giovanni Moretti, the head foreman, met my dad to take him on a tour of the plant. At the last moment, dad decided to have my mom and brother come along. My mom was into fashion and he thought Jimmy would benefit from observing the on-the-ground aspects of the business." Her words took over, recounting the story burned into her brain from 20 years of obsessive attention to the details. In her mind's eye, she was there, a passive observer, forever a witness to the defining event of her life.

Signor Moretti led the group out onto the manufacturing floor, pointing out the fabric machines installed by Hart Enterprises to Mrs. Elizabeth Hart-Burnett, "Signora, with this addition we can now double the short term output with less time and improve quality check."

Elizabeth examined the pooling fabric between her fingers. "Signor Moretti, it's beautiful! Look dear," she turned to James Burnett Jr., "they even got the pink flowers right." The fabric at issue, spouting out of a fast weave loom, which James was betting would revolutionize the plant, was a pattern designed by one designer-in-training, young Alison Hart-Burnett. Feeling bad that his youngest was stuck with his wife's mother, a fate he privately considered worse than death, James planned on having something made for her from a picture she had drawn. When he picked her up from the airport next week, it would be a special surprise to make up for any perceived abandonment.

"And here," Moretti ushered the group through a set of plywood double doors, "is where we process incoming orders."

Elizabeth screamed and grabbed Jimmy, shoving him behind her body. Moretti had led them into an auxiliary office where four masked men waited, guns raised and pointed at the family.

"Hands up where I can see them." Moretti stalked around James whose hand was leveled at his chest, his small pistol concealed in the inside pocket of his blazer. He never traveled without it. James slowly lifted his hands, glancing at Elizabeth, desperate to give her reassurance. His blood was boiling and if it was him, he'd fight. But with his family there, he wouldn't do something stupid and risk their lives. Chances were they just wanted a little extortion, something to pad the coffers. He'd dealt with it before and would do so again. He submitted to Moretti's inspection and didn't flinch when Moretti slapped him across the face seizing the pistol, "Trying to pull a stunt Signor Burnett? Don't be foolish." Moretti turned to Elizabeth and Jimmy, "I am sorry Signora, we were told only Signor Burnett was touring. You will excuse that we are not prepared for you as we should be."

"What do you want?" James cut in.

"The end of our corporate masters and the imperialist state they control." Moretti motioned to one of the men, who walked over, grabbed James' hands and began to tie them behind his back. "We fight for the freedom of Italia's people. We will not be toys for the foreign elite."

Lady Jaye came back to the present, "They were members of the Red Brigades, a Marxist group seeking the revolution of Italy. They were violent terrorists who kidnapped, robbed, and assassinated. They created such fear that the years of their main existence were known as the Years of Lead. But dad didn't worry about them. At the time my parents went over, the BR targeted Italian officials. This was their first strike against Americans. It was just, I don't know, random." Her words were disjointed as she struggled to make sense of it all, "Of all the factories in the world, my father picked that one, engaging in a bidding war with a British firm to get it. All the research and due diligence that went into the acquisition failed to disclose the ties to the BR? That's what they did, they went after factories. But there was never any thought. Italy, right? I mean, Italy? Who doesn't go to Italy because they'll be kidnapped and held for ransom? Talk about left field." She blew at the imaginary hair on her forehead.

"My grandmother received a phone call shortly thereafter from an affiliated source relaying the terms for their release. An exorbitant amount of money and an agreement that the Hart's would use their influence to persuade U.S. NATO officials to seek to expel Italy from the alliance." She let out a sarcastic laugh, "Yeah, good luck with that one."

"Well, you can imagine what happened," she suddenly affected an aristocratic air, "We do not negotiate with kidnappers. The Harts will pay no ransom. We do that now, we will never survive. We do not give in." She paused, her words choking in her throat, "Stodgy old bat was probably right, but it was my family, not hers. That was my mom, it was my dad, it was Jimmy." She paused, trying to quell the torrent of emotion bubbling to the surface, "Flint, she was playing Russian roulette with a 16 year old. I have to believe, deep down, that it was because of my dad. Maybe if my dad wasn't there she would have found a way. The presence of my father elevated the situation, it made it a headline. She did not bow to headlines."

She paused, her tone softer, almost dejected, "Then again, maybe she knew. Maybe she knew no matter what she did it would end up the same. Why give up your principles if it wouldn't change anything? She held her ground and thirty days later they were dead. Realizing that she wouldn't negotiate, fearful of discovery, they decided to kill them. Dumping their bodies behind the factory, the BR fled, gone from the map." She looked up at the ceiling, the anguish fighting over her face, holding back the torrent of tears that wanted to fall. Finding her composure, she continued with a sharp exhale, "Although Grandmother Hart buried the story in the back pages, Uncle Robert kept up the search. It took years. He did it though; he tracked down the four gunmen, lobbied for their extradition, and donated all sorts of assistance to the prosecution. It was an airtight case. They'll never see the light of day.

"Giovanni Moretti, now he was another story. When the Red Brigades were on the run, he turned. Suddenly he was a good guy, working for the government. The Italians claimed he had renounced the BR and was a _collaborator di giustizia_," she emphasized the words with her hand, "a collaborator with justice. And just like that," a snap of her fingers, "he disappeared into Italy's version of the witness protection program. Untouchable. Life went on. But I didn't forget. I couldn't. I thought with enough time, he would atone for his deeds." Her words trailed off as she stared out into the distance.

"I've tracked down every possible lead and he remains, untouchable." She pointed over to an envelope resting on the nightstand, "Every time I think I've found him, it turns into another dead end. I have to give it to the Italians, they've erased his existence." She turned her head toward him, "I thought if I could pour enough money, I'd get him and he would pay. But everyday it becomes harder and harder. Memories are short, people die. Now it's a torched records warehouse. But I will find him, he will know pain." Her voice turned hard and bitter, her eyes focused. To Flint she was like a valkyrie deciding who would live and die in battle, confident in her decision. Flint sensed the panic just beneath, the fear that Moretti would slip away forever. She was good at that. She could compartmentalize, setting her true feelings aside to play a part. Nonetheless, he was starting to catch on to her. He thought he alone could truly read her and he was reading her now. She wasn't so strong; she needed him.

Flint pulled her into his body, holding her close. How he wanted to take it all away. It wasn't his to take. Not yet. It was a start and gave him hope, hope that someday, maybe, just maybe, they would have more. She pushed away from him, her gaze intently fixed on his face. His hand moved on its own, wiping away the tears streaking her cheeks and pooling under her chin, following the curve of her face up to her lips, brushing them, his fingers lingering. Then it happened, he couldn't say how, but suddenly her eyes were closed and her face was upturned, meeting his, lips to lips, a delicate need turned into a ferocious roar. He struggled to keep his body in check. Futile, it was on autopilot, responding to her touch, doing what a male body will do, flesh separated from its brain. His mind was drowning in desire. He knew he had to fight to surface. A moan drifted through the room and he couldn't tell if it was her or him. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her against his solid chest. Eyes closed, he succumbed.

"Wait," her voice was breathless and disjointed, "wait, I," she moved her lips away from his, resting them next to his cheek.

He was a man drugged, barely able to register the stop in commotion, "Whaaaa?"

Sniffling, she composed her thoughts, "Do you know how I got Stratsky to give up the code?"

It was a bucket of cold water dumped on his head. Damn, he didn't want to open this box. He feared hope wouldn't be enough to get him through.

She was good at reading body language and sensed the change in his. She wrestled herself away from his embrace, turning her back to him. He rested a hand on her shoulder, bracing for the worst. She had to get this out, she would get this out. She couldn't say why it seemed so important at the time. It just did. She felt he had to know before anything more happened. The need was urgent and irrational. She had to tell him, she just had to, "I negotiated with him on his level. I . . ."

Flint squeezed her shoulder, "Please, Alison, I, I don't want to know." He was met by silence, only the rise and fall of her back gave any indication she was listening. He began again, "I know there are going to be things you have to do to save people, to save yourself. I'd like to think that I'm a big man and can accept that. The problem is I'm just a man. I'm not so sure if I can, well, you know." He sighed, "Maybe you don't know. It's not you, not what you have to do." Flint's speech picked up momentum, "It's the thought of them, the thoughts I would have of what I'd want to do to anyone who touched you. I'd never think badly of you. You're my best friend. You're more than my best friend, you're. . ." Suddenly the silence was too uncomfortable, she should be saying something, responding. Here he was pouring out his soul and she remained mute, leaving him hanging. "Alison?" he shook her. Her body gave no resistance. "Ali?" Her head rolled to the side, she was passed out. He shook his head, just his luck. "Well, I can't blame you hon. I'd want to pass out too." Touching her face, he pulled himself away, reluctant to lose the moment. Crestfallen, and feeling guilty for feeling that way, he pulled the covers back, tugging and pushing her toward the pillow. Tucking her in, he kissed her forehead, "I'm sorry Alison, I'm so sorry." It was going to be a rough morning. Once in the confines of his room, he picked up the phone.

She awoke sometime around five a.m., her head on fire and mouth filled with sand. Wine was bad enough, cheap wine even worse. Sitting up was a mistake and she collapsed back down to the pillow. She had no idea how she even made it to the bed. Last she remembered she was standing in front of the desk swilling down a rancid bottle of red, drowning out the world. The world was now making itself known. She groaned and prayed for a swift death. Fighting the nausea, she glanced at the alarm clock, the numbers red blobs floating in space. Squinting, the blobs were no clearer. _Great, now my eye sight is gone_. "Oh, thank heavens," the blobs were blobs because of the tall glass of water refracting the light. And next to that glass was a container of much needed Tylenol. How'd they get there? Propping up on one arm, she reached over, flicking on the bedside lamp, temporarily blinded by the brightness. _Oh man, what did I do_? Drawing the glass to her lips, a piece of paper, slightly saturated from its double duty as a coaster, tumbled to the sheets. Unfolding it, she recognized Flint's deliberate scrawl. "Oh god," she covered her eyes with an arm. Faint memories danced in the shadows of her consciousness.

_Alison_,

_I called Duke last night and told him you came down with food poisoning because, despite my pointing out that one should indulge in BBQ while in Kansas City, you insisted on some weird fish thing. Completely believable given what happened in Denver. Duke said to get well (and stick with the local cuisine). I called the front desk and extended your stay for the weekend. Housekeeping will skip your room today. Your flight is rebooked for Sunday night. The front desk has your new itinerary. _

_As for me, I'm too close to home to not visit. I'll see you back on base. Please call. If you need me, I'm just a car ride away._

_Dashiell_

A groan escaped her lips. If the drink didn't kill her surely embarrassment would. He saw everything. She meant to be alone last night, to drown her sorrows in some swill and be done with it. When she received word that the warehouse containing the files related to the investigation of her family's kidnapping mysteriously burned down, her center came crashing down. She had been so certain that this was finally going to be the key to unlocking Moretti's whereabouts. Instead, she was right back at the beginning, faced with a blank slate and no more leads. She'd get through, but last night, she really just needed some help to forget. Why did she open the door? She could kick herself. Now who knew what he thought, how he perceived her.

Rather than take his note at face value, as he was oft to instruct her, she allowed her mind to run wild with the worst of thoughts. Surely he thought she was weak, weak and emotional, unable to master the basic skills of life. He had to step in and fix her problems. No, she couldn't accept his actions as kindness; she had to see them as revealing her frailties. How could she face him now? She sunk down under the covers. Here she had thought they were getting somewhere. Where that was, she couldn't say. All she knew was that she was starting to feel soft for the big lug.

"Oh god!" She bolted upright, her fingers touching her bottom lip, still feeling the firm pressure of his. Stratsky. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_, her inner voice admonished her. _Why did you say anything about Stratsky?_ It was enough to shut Flint up. His words were brisk and cutting, "I don't want to know." _Of course he wouldn't want to know, who would?_ No, in her drunken stupor she had to confess that she made out with the Russian, as if that would change anything. _Well, it did princess, nice work. You can say good-bye._ And that thought was enough to send her running for the bathroom.


	2. Father to a Sister of Thought

**Chapter 2: Father to a Sister of Thought**

**One month later: Washington, DC: 8:35 a.m. **

Michelle Parke hated Mondays. It was by no means an original thought. Many people through the ages have ruminated over their hatred for Mondays. From Aristotle's observation that "we are what we repeatedly do," believed to be a lament about the start of the week, to Bob Geldof's "I don't like Mondays," Monday's beginning puts almost everybody in a bad mood, but its end does little to enliven the spirit.

For Michelle, this particular Monday had a most inauspicious start Sunday night. Michelle resided in a townhouse in the Glover Park neighborhood of Washington, DC. It seemed like a wise investment at the time. A quiet neighborhood off Wisconsin Avenue, it was a maze of one way streets that only the most resourceful of robbers would dare attempt. The general run-of-mill burglars and ne'er-do-wells would most likely stay away. As a single female, Michelle often obsessed over these types of things. There was the slight issue with the strip clubs, but Michelle firmly believed in one's first amendment right to wear as much or as little as one wanted. Besides, it had a really good elementary school, which had to count for something for the resale value. The neighbors on either side were quiet and tidy, lace curtains in front and orderly gardens in the back. All in all, Michelle felt very proud for making the right choice the day she signed the mortgage papers.

Then, the Vadens died, one right after the other. Mr. Vaden met his end during an unfortunate unscheduled stop to the Dupont Farmers Market. Picking the one contaminated tomato in the pile, Mr. Vaden contracted lysteria and never recovered. Mrs. Vaden wasn't the same and Michelle was convinced the sweet old lady died of a broken heart. Rather than sell the place, the Delaware heirs decided it was better to rent. Being from Delaware, they didn't place a lot of time in vetting applicants. The first to apply were the first to rent. And that is how the boys of the SEC came to live on Michelle's left with their LSU Tiger parties and stellar example of the pitfalls of communism. While one man may strive to take care of and improve his property, men living in the collective will refuse to do anything that could be perceived as being taken advantage. Like the lawn. If one man mowed the lawn while the others watched the LSU game, what did he get out of it? Whereas if all the men watched the LSU game and the lawn remained un-mowed, no harm no foul.

Then, her other neighbors retired. Fed up with chilly DC winters and fully vested in their CSRS pension, the Abbotts packed up and moved to Mississippi, renting out their former homestead. Living in Mississippi, they conveniently forgot what it was like to share a wall, a very thin plaster wall, and went with expediency rather than quality in choosing tenants. Thus, the boys of the ACC came to live on Michelle's right with their Saturday afternoon college football fests, Sunday and Monday night football gatherings, Wednesday beer pong tournaments, Thursday night discos, and Friday baseball rallies. The neat flower garden in back died and weeds took over. Meanwhile, the boys kicked up their heels and sat on the porch tossing down 40s like the world was about to end. For Michelle, it did in a way. A lover of peace and solitude, it turned out that a decent elementary school wasn't enough of a draw in comparison to frat boys on both sides and strip clubs mere blocks away. After receiving no bites when she listed her place, she accepted her fate and, quite begrudgingly, acknowledged that she indeed made a bad decision.

But back to this particular Monday. Michelle still didn't know what was so special about Sunday. There were no sporting events of which she was aware. The weather was remarkable in that there was nothing remarkable about it. It was a Sunday like any other Sunday except for the fact her neighbors treated it like a solstice feast. Thumping bass and squeals of "whoop-whoop" assaulted her ears at 3 a.m. After desperate pleas to please keep it down fell upon deaf ears, she called the police, who never came. She fell asleep curled up in her closet, buried under pillows and blankets, which is why she never heard her alarm clock go off.

Rushing through an abbreviated shower, forgoing breakfast, Michelle hit the pavement and did a record time sprint to the bus stop, waiting for the bus that would never come. For strange reasons unknown to the denizens of DC, WMATA buses will not and do not travel alone. Rather, they travel in packs lest they be attacked like the roving caravans of humanity's last hope in some Mad Max movie. The 7:45 bus showed up right on the heels of the 8:00 and the 8:15. The bus oozed along the narrow streets of Georgetown, before parking in front of the Dupont Circle Metro Station. Hopping off, Michelle dashed and cut her way through the hoards only to trip on the escalator stair that didn't move, stubbing her toe and scuffing her shoe. Cursing, Michelle cast an evil eye at the temporary out of service sign and wondered when Metro would just cut its losses and install a permanent one.

Stopped escalator stairs are not made for walking. The proportions are all out of whack. The rise is too drastic for a comfortable step and the parallel lines of black steel jar the eyes and can cause vertigo in those so inclined. Michelle was so inclined. Her stomach bobbed and weaved as she descended the 188 feet of stairs to the station below. Reaching the bottom, the line to pass through the turnstile snaked its way around the upper mezzanine. Only one gate was working. Michelle hopped in line, the flashing digital clock above a reminder of just how late she was going to be. Michelle sighed, it was always like this. Whenever she had an absolute deadline of where she had to be, something stood in the way.

And today she had an absolute deadline for where she needed to be. Michelle was General Counsel for the United States Department of Commerce. When she first accepted the appointment, she had high expectations that she would swoop in, cut red tape, render masterful legal opinions, and assist the Secretary in freeing markets everywhere. It would be a huge stepping-stone on her career path. Instead, every decision Michelle rendered seemed to compound red tape and instead of issuing masterful legal opinions, she was more of a fashion consultant, deciding which tie better suited the Secretary depending on his speaking engagement of the day. She only had to survive six more months, six more long, grueling months, before she could put feelers out for a new position. Until then, she would endure. And part of that enduring meant meeting with the Secretary before any speaking engagement, no matter how small, not to go over talking points, but to select his tie. The Secretary's meeting was at 9:30, she was cutting things close.

Waiting on the platform for the next train, Michelle instinctively jockeyed for position. It didn't look good from where she stood. The platform was packed with early risers and the Metro car was jam packed as well. Where these people came from, she knew not. She just knew they were there, wanting the same thing she did, admittance to this train. Warily eyeing the competition, Michelle positioned herself where she estimated the doors would open. Alas, luck was not on Michelle's side and she severely underestimated the door by a few feet. But a few feet, often the difference between a gold and a silver, was the difference between hopping on a packed train or fuming in silence for the next. The next train was met by howls of curses as it rumbled past the station, "out of service" scrolling across its destination board.

Finally the third train was the charm. Michelle allowed the crowd to push her forward and she grabbed a pole as the train sped forward toward her destination. Arriving at Metro Center, Michelle barely made it off the train as Metro's sing-songy warning, "door closing," barely preceded the slamming of the car's doors. Fact, the doors on a Metro car do not automatically spring open when meeting resistance like a Chicago "L" car. No, Metro doors are programmed to do one thing, close. If a bag, or say even a person, is in the way, the doors will keep trying to close and the car will rumble ahead with said bag or person flailing outside, attached to the train. Michelle wasn't going to ponder how she arrived at that fact, unconsciously rubbing her shoulder that was still sore almost two years later.

Realizing the futility of arriving in time to assist the Secretary in selecting his tie, Michelle figured she had time to grab a quick coffee. She started preparing her apology speech as she rode the escalator topside.

**Unknown Cobra Outpost: 8:55 a.m. **

"What?"

"You heard me correctly."

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am very serioussss I assure you."

"Commander, I just don't follow." Destro shook his head; trying to grasp the essence of Cobra Commander's latest plot was beginning to test his patience.

"Surely you have to see the genius of my plan. Think of the havoc Cobra shall create. The world will be at its knees. A surgical strike they will never anticipate!" The Commander clutched his fists and raised them into the air, rousing victory marches playing in his head.

"I don't buy it. Once you do it the first time, they'll figure it out. Word will get around. You can't expect to accomplish much." Destro folded his arms across his chest waiting for the explanation.

**Metro Center: 9:05 a.m. **

Michelle squinted against the light as she stepped off the escalator. A few feet in front of her she noticed a group of 20-somethings dressed in blue jumpsuits handing out something to the swarms of people exiting the station. Some took the free offering with open arms, others held up their hands trying to avoid any contact with the workers. As Michelle walked closer to the group she saw that they were handing out trial pieces of chewing gum. She instinctively reached out to take a piece offered by a young blonde-haired woman. A hand suddenly appeared from outside her peripheral vision and placed a packet in her hand. She turned to thank the individual, nodding her head in appreciation. As she walked away from the scene she found that she couldn't recall the face of the man who had handed her the gum. He looked so nondescript that his face was almost just a blur, as if he didn't have a face at all, just a blank slate where his features should be. Shrugging it off, Michelle looked down at the wrapper, Cool Breeze: Alpine Blast. Somehow, she doubted it truly would be reminiscent of an alpine trip, but free was free. She unwrapped the stick of gum, shoved the wrapper into her pocket and the gum into her mouth. She sucked her cheeks in as the intensity of the flavor hit her head on. It felt like she had placed half a tin of altoids in her mouth. Breathing out, the minty fire in her mouth subsided and she hurried onward. There was a coffee kiosk in the Marriott where the Secretary was speaking at a meeting of the Fresh Produce Association. It would have to do.

Walking down the street, Michelle couldn't help but notice just how darn hot the morning had gotten. The Weather Channel failed to mention this little heat wave. Sighing, she resigned herself to limp locks and a sticky shirt. Unbuttoning the collar to her blouse did little to relieve the sauna. Missing the light at 13th and E, she unbuttoned her blazer. Looking around, she wondered how many people would even care if she stripped down to her skivvies. They were oblivious to her as she normally was to them, so wrapped up in their own commuting dramas. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she crossed the street as the light changed. Stepping up onto the opposite curb, the ground lurched beneath her. She held out her arms to steady herself and found that it took great concentration to place one foot in front of the other. She willed herself to walk more carefully. If she could just make it to the hotel, everything would be okay. A taxi cab drove by honking its horn, the sound echoing in her head long after it sped away. The solid cube of the Marriott loomed overhead, arching menacingly above. Michelle stopped in the middle of the doorway, trying to catch her breath. The surroundings ebbed and flowed, spinning ever faster. Stumbling, "Watch it lady!" a man pushed her away as she fell into him. Panicking, Michelle headed for the kiosk, assuming that lack of breakfast and caffeine were getting to her. She really had to remember to eat something, even a piece of bread, before heading out for the day. She staggered into line, her body pitching and swaying. The barista gave her an odd look as she tried to place her order. Her tongue wouldn't form the words in her mouth and it felt leaden and almost dead. She tried again but her whole body was rebelling. Someone behind her commented that she must be drunk. As she turned to tell that person off, the ground shifted. The last sound she heard was a woman's scream as clarity gave way to nothingness.

**Unknown Cobra Outpost: 9:45 a.m. **

Cobra Commander and Destro faced each other across the conference room table. Destro's arms were folded across his chest. The arms dealer's unwillingness to embrace his plan was frustrating the leader to no end. "What do I expect?" The Commander began to regret letting Destro in on his plan. "What can't I expect? By the time they figure it out, Cobra will already be one step ahead. No one will feel safe. The populace will turn on its governments and seek out those that can make it safe. Our friends will step in and our path to domination will begin. You always say I aim too high. This time, I listened." A knock was heard at the door. "Come in," ordered the Commander. An apprehensive young solider stepped across the threshold.

"Sir, I have the report you've been expecting. Zartan wanted to relay that the subject was found and the test was positive. Further, the other marks were handed out and he'll continue to monitor the situation." The solider, with shaky hands, fought against his primal urge to flee as he handed a manila file folder over to the Commander. He shifted his weight back and forth, pulling at his collar. Of all the places to be on base, this wasn't it.

The Commander accepted the file and waved the anxious young man out of the room. He turned back to Destro, "It looks like my little test today was a success. Soon, very soon, we shall plan our sssstrike." His maniacal laugh filled the room.

Reaching across the table to take the report proffered by the Commander, Destro felt something he had never felt before in the Commander's presence, admiration. As he perused through the report's pages, Destro kept his thoughts to himself, but maybe, just maybe, the Commander was on to something. If so, Destro worried that he was going too far.


	3. Insatiable, Pt 1

**Chapter 3: Insatiable, Pt. 1**

**Pit III, Undisclosed Location in Utah, Personnel Quarters: 1:35 p.m.**

It was a battle scene of epic proportions. Socks were strewn all over the floor, partners missing in action, while two piles of blue jeans and khaki pants fought for supremacy over the bed. A white cotton t-shirt flew at half mast from the room fan while another covered half of the lampshade on the night stand. In the middle of the mêlée stood Lady Jaye, shoulders slumped and lips pursed in thought. In either hand were what appeared to be identical brown belts. Only closer inspection would reveal that one belt was a slightly lighter shade than the other. Which one to take? Holding both up toward the light, she couldn't decide and tossed both across the room to join other castoffs from her afternoon foray into packing.

Unnoticed, Cover Girl stood in the doorway watching the unfolding scene, trying hard to not laugh. She couldn't help but think it was always the same when Lady Jaye packed. Rather than employ Cover Girl's orderly system to packing, a system she developed and perfected after spending years on the road as a model able to answer any call at a moment's notice, Lady Jaye insisted on engaging in a last minute torched earth policy, leaving nothing but disorder in her wake and annihilating her room in a frenetic race to complete the task at the last possible moment before barely missing the plane.

"I told you, buy double of everything. That way you always have a bag packed and ready to go." Cover Girl entered the room, stepping over a pair of discarded combat boots.

Lady Jaye brushed aside the advice, "But then I always end up using the extras because I know they're there. Besides, I can't predict in February what I may want to wear in September."

"You can and you should." Pushing aside Mt. Blue Jeans, Cover Girl perched on the end of Lady Jaye's bed, shaking her head with mock disdain, "It isn't a choice over what you may want to wear, you tell yourself what you are going to wear. This," she swept her hand over the sea of pants, "should never be."

Lady Jaye stuck her tongue out.

"Really mature, how can I argue with that?" Cover Girl settled back into the khaki pile, "So, any more information?"

Lady Jaye closed the door and kicked away some clothes to clear space on the floor. Plopping herself down, she wrapped her arms around her knees, contemplating how to best respond. She figured it was a loaded question. The only thing on which there could be more information was the identity of the partner for her next assignment. Approximately two weeks ago Duke tasked Lady Jaye with representing the Joes at some FBI training program on surveillance techniques. He had to send someone; she happened to walk past his office at the exact moment he realized the response form was due. Without thought, he scribbled down her name and she instantly became the team's surveillance emissary. Although she pointed out at every meeting since then that it would probably make more sense to send one of the team members who might actually stand a chance of utilizing the equipment in the field, Duke was not swayed. To change the person now would require completing a mountain full of paperwork. If anyone hated paperwork, it was Duke. Therefore, he was sticking by his decision and Lady Jaye would head down to Quantico come hell or high water. Up until a few hours before she had to be at the airport, Jaye had held out hope that high water of some sort would interfere. Alas, it looked like her prayers were not being answered and out to Virginia she'd fly.

Accepting her inability to sway Duke to reason, she figured she could muster up the interest to survive with lots of coffee and the hope of maybe picking up a new skill. Duke couldn't make it that easy and added a wrinkle to the situation. Duke failed to read through the informational materials and missed the fact that the DOD was requiring each military unit to send two representatives to complete the training program. Once word got around, every team member had taken great care to avoid Duke the past few days. Cover Girl had hid in a cramped Mauler for three hours while Duke camped out in the mechanic's office waiting for anyone to show up. After giving up and leaving the garage in a huff, Cover Girl cautiously peeked out her head only to notice Clutch dropping down to the floor from an overhead beam. "I have too much to do without cooling my heels behind a desk listening to some FBI agent wax poetic about a little electronic do-hickey," the man quipped. Cover Girl pretty much felt the same way. Whoever was chosen was going to be about as happy to attend as Jaye.

"No, still no word yet. I don't think Duke has spotted an actual human being all week." She had it on good information that Mainframe and Breaker created cardboard cut-outs of themselves to throw Duke off their trail.

"I might know something," Cover Girl winked.

"Oh come on Courtney, you can't walk in and say that without spilling. What have you heard?"

"It was only second hand, you understand."

"Go on." Lady Jaye was starting to get impatient.

"Somebody just got back from Texas and failed to get the memo to avoid Duke and marched right into the lion's den."

Lady Jaye's hope deflated. There was only one person on the team that had just spent the last few days on the Texas border tracing a Cobra lead. Unless, "Are you sure?"

"Sorry hun, looks like you can't avoid him forever." The "him" in question was Flint. Ever since Jaye and Flint had returned from their mission in Kansas City, Jaye had done everything in her power to avoid the warrant officer. At first Cover Girl thought the situation was kind of funny. She was amazed at the reasons and excuses Lady Jaye concocted to avoid any prolonged exposure to Flint. Well-versed herself in the art of the elusive avoid, Cover Girl had learned the skill during her pictorial heyday. The creepy photographer who could make her career as well as destroy it? No problem. After listening to the older models, Cover Girl soon learned how to duck and weave without the photographer ever suspecting that she was steering clear of his company. There were two major rules to dodging another's company. First, never be seen alone with the person. Being alone gave the false impression of sincere interest. And second, always have a plausible excuse. A flimsy reason was indefensible and forgettable, the surest way to trip up in the end. From Cover Girls' perspective, Lady Jaye had both bases covered. From early morning meetings to late PT sessions, Lady Jaye was always on the go and unavailable. She even threw in an undercover mission for good measure. Although, Cover Girl found out that the only thing that particular mission involved was a heavy quilt, a flashlight, and some German novel Lady Jaye had been itching to read. But the time had come when Cover Girl found she felt sorry for the hapless warrant officer. Surely whatever his transgression had been, he'd more than paid the price. It was time for Lady Jaye to step up to the plate and confront her problem.

Lady Jaye stretched her legs out in front of her, fidgeting like a rambunctious toddler caught with the tell-tale cookie crumbs on her shirt, "Courtney, it won't be forever, just a little more time." She held up her hand to stop the next question, "No, I didn't talk to him yet."

"Why won't you just talk to the man? Poor boy's wandering around the base in shell shock. Jaye, what happened?"

"I told you, I messed up, big time. I just," she closed her eyes, shaking her head once, before continuing, "I just can't talk to him right now. It'll die down."

"But it's not." Cover Girl was having difficulty hiding her frustration. "You know me, I've done my fair share of avoiding. But this, this makes no sense." She paused, there was one thing that _would_ make sense, "Unless _that_ happened."

Lady Jaye's head snapped toward Cover Girl, "Courtney, I told you it wasn't like that."

Cover Girl held her hands up in response, "Hey, I'm not judging you. It's not like I haven't entertained thoughts about a few on the team. Good for you is all I'm saying."

"Ahhhh!" Lady Jaye slammed her right fist down into the title floor and instantly regretted the impulse, "Owwww, man that hurt." She jumped up, shaking her hand while mumbling assorted curse words under her breath.

Cover Girl maintained her cool, crossing her legs and leaning back on her hands. She suspected Lady Jaye was finally going to tell her the truth.

Still shaking her throbbing hand, Lady Jaye glared at Cover Girl, knowing full well that she had been played, "Fine. I kissed him. In a drunken moment when I thought I was alone, he came to my room. He tried to help me out and I threw myself at him. But that's it. Nothing else."

"That's it?" Cover Girl couldn't hide her disappointment. Here she thought she was going to get a juicy story and instead it was what she should have expected, Flint going to Lady Jaye's room. How utterly predictable, "You're beating yourself up over that?"

"Well, why wouldn't I?"

"Jaye, think about it, he came to your room. If anyone started something, my money's on him making the first move."

"I don't think so. It isn't that simple. He wanted to meet up for dinner but I turned him down. He was probably just following up on that. There's no way he was looking for that. Trust me, he doesn't see me that way."

"Damn you guys are thick." Cover Girl gave a shake of her head.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Cover Girl pushed herself off of the bed, "Just talk to him. I have a feeling things aren't as dire as you think." Walking toward the threshold, she turned, "Promise me, don't drag this out. No good will ever come from that. Trust your gut."

With those parting words, Cover Girl disappeared into the hallway leaving Lady Jaye more confused than ever before. _What did Courtney know that she didn't_? Cover Girl certainly didn't shy away from expressing her opinions, _even though I do_, she added to the dialogue in her head.

What Cover Girl didn't know, and couldn't know, is that it was more than just avoiding Flint because of the kiss. No, she could be adult enough to manage that situation. It was the first time she spoke with Flint after he returned from visiting his family in Kansas. He had sought her out, finally finding her in the intelligence room poring over the latest intel reports. It was the look her gave her when their eyes first met. It was the undeniable look of pity. It couldn't be anything else. Every time he looked at her she couldn't help but see the pity in his eyes. She would not be pitied.

And so she avoided him. She decided to immerse herself in her work, with the exception of the one time Cover Girl barged into her room and caught her cuddled up in her bed with hot chocolate and a steamy book. She would be the first to admit that it was a bit of a stretch to consider that an undercover mission, despite clearly being under the covers. But all the other reasons, the morning meetings, the training sessions, those had been legitimate. She knew the only way to get him out of her head was to fill it up with everything else. Because every time she thought of him, she cringed at being the object of his pity. Every time she thought of him, she replayed the situation over and over in her mind, wondering what she could have done differently. She should never have opened the door. She should have known better than to even get drunk in her room. She allowed herself to be compromised and thus interfered with their working relationship. That was the one thing that mattered, their partnership. They were practically the best on the team and she jeopardized that over her feelings. Of course he would respond when she threw herself at him like that. He was only human. She'd probably do the same thing. But it was unprofessional. She felt like a heel. Maybe she deserved his pity. Until she could get a grip on her emotions, she knew she would be no match to face him. Cover Girl was right, she couldn't avoid him forever; she didn't want to avoid him forever. But, deep down, she knew she had to get over him, _yes, over him_, before she stood a chance of speaking to him one on one, person to person, friend to friend. If Courtney was right about the upcoming mission, however, it was time to speed up that process.

After about a whirlwind hour of packing and unpacking, Lady Jaye was ready. Zipping up her duffle bag, she took one last glance around the room to make sure she had everything. Going though the mental check list, all her gear was present and accounted for. Except for that pair of tailored jeans, and maybe that light gray cotton sweater, they were still folded on her bed. It was a training mission; there was no need to pack anything but the essentials. She hadn't spent the past hour ruminating over whether to bring her nice jeans for nothing. No, just the basics would do. But there they were, the jeans and the sweater that Flint once commented brought out her eyes. He probably meant it as something nice to say considering the mud and twigs crowning her hair only moments before. But his words had left an indelible mark on her mind. That sweater found its way into her bag most missions, just in case. Not this mission though. She couldn't allow it. Or could she? With an inward sigh, she unzipped her bag and stuffed them in.


	4. All the World Is Mad

**Chapter 4: All the World Is Mad**

**FBI J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, DC **

**The Next Day, 1:30 p.m. **

Executive Assistant Director Charles Patterson leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. Just a few days shy of his 62nd birthday, Patterson, with his faded salt and pepper hair, tanned complexion, and chiseled lines that reflected a life lived in the outdoors, thought he'd pretty much seen it all. Like a protagonist in the old black and white detective movies he preferred, the worst of what people offered didn't really surprise him much anymore. If someone could think it up, chances are he already had. One only got to his position by being that proverbial step ahead. But he should have known better than to get cocky. There were still things lurking in the shadows that he had yet to comprehend. This latest case was up there and it was vexing him to no end. Motive. Usually everything came down to a motive. This time, for the life of him, he just couldn't comprehend any motive.

It started yesterday when the Commerce Department's General Counsel passed out in the lobby of the Marriott. It wasn't so much the passing out. He had a few bets on who would be caught with their pants down for each administration. No, someone going down generally wasn't a concern. Still, the Bureau always checked it out just to be sure. The news quickly worked its way through the morass to land on his desk with the request to please investigate, with discretion. Sending an agent to do a soft follow-up, the man reported back that the woman was admitted to the intensive care unit of George Washington University Hospital with severe flu-like symptoms. Patterson had the agent check her background and she was what he figured her to be, an overachieving workaholic. Recalling the agent back to headquarters, Patterson chalked it up to someone spread too thin and ignoring the body's not-so-subtle requests to take a day off. He saw it all the time in those eager young souls bouncing in to Washington, eager to make a name and rise to the top. He gave it no further thought until the other reports began to trickle in. As the morning turned to afternoon, more stories crossed his desk of individuals showing up at their doctors' offices or area emergency rooms complaining of flu-like symptoms. Some complained of no more than a headache with intermittent aches and pains, others displayed more advanced cases of what could only be a seasonal flu attack. When the number hit 100, the alarms rang that dragged his sleepy unit to life.

Things didn't end up in his unit if they were meant to see the light of day. The better part of valor is discretion and that's when his group stepped in. Rumors swirled around Headquarters of the existence of Operation Sub Rosa, a unit so secret that even it was a secret. Only Patterson and the few agents under his command knew the group's official name. Normally the agents were assigned elsewhere, but with a call from Patterson, they reformed as duty required. And duty so required this time. It had taken a work of genius to bury the story in the back pages of the Washington Post thus far. He owed the Office of Public Affairs a few rounds over at the Green Turtle once this was over.

Opening up a file, Patterson sent his best men in to follow-up that evening. After conducting several interviews and putting the puzzle pieces together, the one thing all the victims, as Patterson was starting to think of them, had in common was ridership on the Red Line and, more particularly, proximity to Metro Center station at around 9:30 in the morning. Metro officials were quickly contacted and readily agreed to allow the FBI to review the morning security camera footage. The Metro officials were even less inclined than the FBI to allow the story to blow open before they knew what they faced. Any rumors of a virus outbreak on the Metro would no doubt cause panic and mayhem to reign supreme, which in turn would kill ridership. Until there was solid confirmation that they were in fact dealing with an epidemic, Metro would issue reminders to be mindful of spreading germs by washing hands and coughing and sneezing into elbows.

Patterson knew he didn't have much time to get to the bottom of the mystery. That one Post reporter, Marvin Blackstone, was poking his nose around. Blackstone was a bit of a conspiracy junkie and had an avid and loyal following of tin foil hat wearers. Patterson worried that Blackstone would get to the bottom before he did. Reaching over to pick up his coffee cup, Patterson grimaced as he choked down the lukewarm contents. His ears perked up at the knock in his door. Maybe this was the breakthrough.

"Come in," he called out in his mellifluous baritone.

"Sir, we've made some progress." The voice of Agent Miller preceded the actual man. Clocking in at barely five foot four, Agent Miller was small of stature but enormous of mind. Whenever Patterson needed answers fast, Miller was on his speed dial.

"Talk to me."

Miller entered and took a seat in front of Patterson's desk, practically dwarfed by its dimensions. "Well, Agents Ekstrom and Herrera poured over the footage last night and we think we found the source." Handing over a small digital player, Miller had the select footage cued up for Patterson.

Patterson watched the screen as a group of college-aged kids in silly blue jumpsuits took up spots handing out what looked like gum to the throngs of passengers entering and exiting the busy station. "Did you?"

"Yes Sir. We located a few of the individuals. They were completely oblivious to what happened. They're all students at Mason who answered an ad to act as part-time brand ambassadors for some outfit called Enterprise Media. This was the third gig. The first gig was handing out flyers for a test prep course on campus. The second was handing out water bottles after a Skins pre-season game and now four students in the group confirmed that they were out promoting some gum called Cool Breeze. One student we interviewed said he wasn't feeling very well. Turned out he kept some of the merchandise he was supposed to hand out."

Patterson jumped up in his seat, "And?"

"Well, we ran a trace on the company and it came up as marketed by a firm called Exclusive Food and Beverage, Inc. Herrera ran a database search on it. A Delaware corporation, its charter was revoked last year for failure to pay incorporation fees.

We attempted to contact the listed registered agent, but it's a disconnected number. The corporate address listed in its registration papers doesn't exist either."

"What do you mean it doesn't exist?"

"I mean it doesn't exist. It's a street and town in Pennsylvania that aren't in Pennsylvania. Herrera is following-up, but we've got nothing so far. Same with the actual product. No applications with PTO, no correspondence with the FDA, no marketing to stores, nada. There is no record anywhere of this product existing before yesterday."

"Well, tell Herrera to work double-time. This can't be a dead end." Patterson paused, "What about the kids? How are they?" Patterson privately chuckled at calling the college-aged individuals kids. Well, to him they were kids. It was always a funny observation to him that the older he got, the older a person qualifying as a kid got. With two out of college and one still in, they were definitely still kids in his book.

"Generally, the ones we were able to contact in short notice seemed ok with the exception of the one. Some said they had tried a few pieces of gum and they reported no symptoms. But my hunch is that's our culprit." Miller sucked in his cheeks, the next part was the true mystery. "But Sir, there's more."

"More?"

"Yes, play the next part."

**George Washington University Hospital, Intensive Care Unit, Washington, DC **

**2:00 p.m. **

Sarah pressed her nose against the glass, trying to get a better glimpse of her sister through the tinted pane. Her sister Michelle was surrounded by machines and staff dressed in biohazard suits. Sarah twirled a strand of long, straight blonde hair around her finger, planning her next move. She turned around, "Damn it! When can I see her? Will someone please tell me what's happening?"

A nurse sitting at the station across from the room spoke up, "We're sorry ma'am, but your sister is under quarantine. No one is allowed in at this time. A doctor will be out shortly to speak with you."

Sarah eyed the nurse wearily. She wanted answers and she wanted them now. She wasn't accustomed to waiting, "No, not shortly, now! I want to know what happened to my sister NOW!"

The nurse fidgeted in her chair, "Please ma'am, a doctor will be with you momentarily."

"Do you people not listen? Did I not make myself clear?" _This is ridiculous_, Sarah fumed to herself. "Is this just something you do? Take people against their will and hide them away? I'm sure the news reporter downstairs would love to hear what I have to say."

The nurse sighed, wishing she could slip the obnoxious blonde a sedative, "Please ma'am, the administrator has already explained to you the seriousness of maintaining Ms. Parke's privacy at this time."

"I can assure you that Ms. Parke is in no need of privacy at this time." Sarah spat out the words. Walking up to the station, Sarah glanced down at the nurse's name tag, "Well Ms. Anderson, what I need is some information. Someone better start telling me what's going on or I start complaining that this hospital is holding people against their will. I suspect there is something being covered up. You know that guy downstairs loves cover-ups." Sarah folded her arms, staring down the nurse as if to dare the woman to make her day.

Nurse Anderson looked around for assistance, any type of help in handling this woman. She wasn't even supposed to be working today. Diane just had to attend that seminar, leaving her here with this raving lunatic. Not to mention the fact that she was well aware of the reporter downstairs. All staff were informed that if Mr. Blackstone even set as much as one pinkie toe on this floor, they might as well pack up and not show up for work tomorrow. "Ma'am," Nurse Anderson paused, how could she explain to blondie what she herself didn't know. She had never encountered this situation before, heck, she didn't even know it was possible. Nurse Anderson couldn't identify any of the doctors or staff in the room with Ms. Parke if her life depended on it. They all worked for the CDC she believed. No one introduced her and she wasn't about to start asking. She had her list of patients and that was enough for her right now. How the hospital chose to handle Ms. Parke wasn't her concern until blondie showed up and started to make a raucous scene.

"It's all right Ms. Anderson, I can take it from here." Nurse Anderson turned around at the sound of her name and watched as an older gentleman circled around the station toward Sarah. Dressed in a white hospital coat over a grey suit with a dark blue tie, he held himself confidently and appeared to be in his late 50s. Pointing to the CDC badge clipped to his coat, he placed a guiding hand on Sarah's elbow and gestured toward the small waiting area opposite Michelle's room, "Shall we talk over here?"

Sarah shook her head yes and dutifully allowed him to escort her away from the nurses' station while casting quick glances behind her to check on Michelle.

The doctor took a seat facing away from Michelle's room and patted the seat directly across from him. Sarah was a bit relieved, finally someone who appeared to care. Offering his hand, the man introduced himself, "Dr. Blaymore, infections specialist." Sarah took his proffered hand and felt the gaze of the man's eyes as he sized her up. She was of average height, her blonde hair being the most noticeable feature. It was impeccable. Clearly a lot of money was sunk into its maintenance. On second glance, a lot of money was sunk elsewhere as well. Her clothes were expensive and of the latest style and the ring on her finger could probably pay his property taxes for a few years. She seemed to know what she wanted. Generally, not the type he preferred to deal with, but she obviously loved her sister and that was really all he needed to know. He had instructions to not speak to anyone until Michelle Parke's next of kin had been confirmed. He made the call she was who she said she was and trust worthy.

"I can't tell you much officially at this point. We're still doing our assessments. Now, Ms. Parke?"

"Actually, it's Mrs. Benton, but call me Sarah."

"Alright Sarah, those doctors in there,"

"Yes?"

"Those doctors work with me at the CDC."

"That's the disease people?" Sarah felt her strength leaving her and tightly grasped the chair arms. "What do you want with Michelle?"

"We're not sure yet. We're trying to figure out exactly what's wrong. Your sister collapsed while waiting in line for coffee this morning. Prior to that she had apparently been acting very erratic, a few witnesses reported that they thought she was drunk. The police department received a call shortly before she passed out from a caller believing it was a case of public intoxication. After she collapsed, the hotel called 911. The paramedics found your sister at the scene unconscious and not responding to stimuli. She was burning up and her temperature was 104.3. . ."

"That's not good." Sarah interrupted.

"No, that is not good. That's when hyperthermia can set in."

Sarah's hand went up to her mouth and she pressed her fist against her lips to keep from screaming. She could feel her body tense and shake. She knew it was bad, but not this bad. If anything happened to Michelle, she shook her head back and forth, casting out those thoughts. She wouldn't think them, not of Michelle.

Dr. Blaymore rested a hand on Sarah's knee, "Are you all right, do you want me to get you some water?"

Sarah shook her head no and then nodded her head to urge the man to continue with his story.

"Ms. Parke experienced acute respiratory failure and had to be intubated at the scene. She was rushed here where the doctors first thought that she had a severe case of the flu. Tests were negative and then, based on her symptoms, the doctors began to think bigger—anthrax, small pox, you get my drift—and quarantined her room and those that had been in close contact. I believe at that point, they called us in. We've ruled out the usual suspects and no one who has been exposed to Ms. Parke has shown any symptoms or elevated white cell counts. We take that as a good sign as this thing seems to move fast. But that's really all we know at this point."

"Thank you doctor, I sincerely appreciate it." Sarah sucked in her cheeks, and looked up, trying to swallow down her anxiety and fears. Her leg was bouncing a mile a minute as she attempted to process the news. There were so many unanswered questions starting with how this could happen to Michelle. She looked back at Blaymore, "How long?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How long can she go on like this? What are her chances? What are you going to do?"

"We'll do everything we can Sarah. I think we've stabilized her but I can't venture a guess beyond that. Tell me, did your sister travel to any exotic locations recently?"

Sarah shook her head, "No, Michelle's been so wrapped up in her work I think the only exotic place she visits is maybe the grocery store."

"What about people in her life? Has she mentioned to you that she was having problems with anyone?"

Sarah gasped, "You think someone did this to Michelle? How? Who would do this? How could they?"

Dr. Blaymore reached out a comforting hand, patting Sarah's knee in an attempt to get her to relax, "Slow down Sarah, I'm only asking the basics. Remember we don't have any leads yet."

Sarah's rolled her head around her shoulders, trying to maintain her grip. "No, I don't think she was having problems with anyone. People generally like Michelle. She's hard working and easy to get along with." Sarah smiled, "Kind of the opposite of me."

Blaymore chuckled, "I see. Well Sarah, someone will be along shortly to discuss this with you more fully." He rose from the seat, "I just didn't want you to have to wait that long. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Something to eat?"

Sarah brushed away an errant tear, "Thank you doctor, again, I appreciate it. Actually, a coffee would be nice. Should I wait here?"

Blaymore nodded and departed, leaving Sarah alone with her thoughts. Although the doctor had given her as much information as he could, it wasn't enough to satiate her need to know everything. She felt the story was bigger than Blaymore let on. While there was no one who would want to harm Michelle because she was Michelle, it was possible she was an afterthought. Frustrated, she knew there was one person who could get the answers. Crossing over to the nurses' station, she used her best smile and apologetic words to gain access to a private phone. Even though it killed her, she flipped through her address book until she found the number. Dialing the code at the beep, she waited for the whirling clicks to subside and inhaled sharply when he answered. "Hi, um, it's Sarah. Listen, there's been a problem with Michelle. We need your help."

**J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, DC**

**3:00 p.m. **

Patterson pressed play and the vantage point jumped to a security camera directly across from the previous camera. He watched as a man seemingly appeared out of the ether to step in front of one of the college kids and hand Michelle a piece of gum. He likewise was dressed in one of the garish blue jumpsuits, but the cut was slightly different. It was looser. Patterson froze the frame and panned in on the individual, his brain processing all the minute details of the scene. From the female college student's irritation at being pushed aside, to the dark trouser fabric peeking out from underneath the blue uniform, no detail was too insignificant to notice. That's how one investigated a case. Take notice of everything, leave nothing to assumption. The man's face though, was blurry. Zooming out for better resolution resulted in no change to the image. Patterson couldn't get a read on it.

Patterson allowed the video to play to its conclusion and watched Michelle pop the piece of gum into her mouth. Her eyes grew wide as she chewed and drifted out of the camera's range. Patterson leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming on his desk. "Hmmm, unusual."

"Did you notice it Sir?"

"What part?"

"The man without a face."

"Miller, what do we know about a man without a face?"

Miller shrugged his shoulders.

"He wasn't with those kids Miller. His outfit was different. He was wearing something underneath. Find out the location of the nearest trash bins. Find out where the trash has gone. I bet we find that blue suit there."

Miller whipped out his notebook from his front pocket and began to jot down notes.

"And his face. Have Herrera check our files. I can't place it but I know we've seen this before."

"Yes Sir."

The phone rang and Miller answered as Patterson closed his eyes in thought. After a few mumbled words, Miller hung up the phone, "Um Sir, that was Herrera."

Patterson's eyes snapped open, "And?"

"You won't believe this, but Exclusive Food and Beverage was acquired this morning and all of its past due taxes and fees were paid."

"Really."

"Yes, by a holding company called Extensive Enterprises."

"Hmmm." Little butterflies swirled around in Patterson's mind, picking up past bits of data, making connections. It was the indescribable feeling of déjà vu. No face, holding company, blue jumpsuits. Then it all fell into place, "But, Extensive Enterprises did you say?"

"Yes Sir."

"Miller, will you please have Marcy get Sergeant Hauser on the line."

"Yes Sir."


	5. Know Your Onion!

**Chapter 5: Know Your Onion!**

**The next day, 10:00 a.m.:**

**FBI Training Academy, Hogan's Alley, Marine Corps Base Quantico, Virginia**

Supervisory Special Agent J.T. Hill winced as he checked off another category on his clipboard. Shaking his head, he wasn't witnessing a pretty sight. Standing at a very solid six foot five inches, the buzz cut, blonde-haired, steely grey-eyed special agent was hardly one to back down in a fight. But sometimes, just like Kenny sang, you had to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, and know when to just walk away. The man standing a few feet away from him was lacking in that innate knowledge.

As an FBI instructor, Hill often worked with other agencies and international groups to coordinate training on the latest advances in surveillance equipment. For the past two weeks, Hill was busy working with representative groups from the U.S. armed forces to train them in a new remote sensor designed to detect and monitor activity over significant distances. By attaching the sensor to a target, they had the capability to not only locate a subject but also to map out the immediate area. If the subject happened to be particularly antsy, the interface could create a fairly-detailed structural map that would assist teams entering unknown conditions, like foreign buildings. The military was testing out the equipment to see if it would assist in urban warfare conditions.

In this case, the military was training at Hogan's Alley, the FBI's realistic mock-up of a small town at MCB Quantico. Part of the FBI's broader training facilities, which included a driving training track and indoor and outdoor firing ranges, Hogan's Alley consisted of a street with all sorts of local businesses, even Chicago's famed Biograph Theater, site of Dillinger's final stand. The facades were primarily used for training, while behind the facades were fully-functioning classrooms, audiovisual facilities, storage areas, and various offices. Although not quite the sprawling city environment in which the military would employ the equipment in the field, it was realistic enough for training purposes.

This morning Agent Hill was training and evaluating two members of the special unit G.I. Joe. Agent Hill had never worked directly with Joe members and looked forward to exchanging ideas and just listening to their stories. A former field agent, and U.S. Marshall before that, Hill sometimes missed the adrenalin rush of his old jobs. The next best thing was to get it second hand. He knew the best of the best comprised the Joe team. Hill figured he could learn as much from them as he had to teach, and get a few new stories to boot. Then again, those were his feelings yesterday when it was just him in front of a classroom. This morning as he stood watching the two soldiers go through the paces of familiarizing themselves with the new equipment out in the Alley, he couldn't help to think of how wrong he had been.

The soldiers, a man with the code name Flint and a woman with the code name Lady Jaye, were in the process of going through a second round of setting up the monitoring system for the sensor. Their first attempt, while not wrong per se, just felt off to him. The soldiers were hesitant and awkward. They displayed no coordination and, in fact, appeared to be running two separate sessions. Hill couldn't place his finger on it. By all appearances, Lady Jaye surreptitiously attached the sensor to the designate target. She was almost a rogue agent though, failing to listen to, or maybe even just plain ignoring, any of Flint's observations. Then again, it wasn't like she needed them. Still, they were supposed to be partners for this exercise. Partners worked together. The equipment required that the two operators work in tandem, each one filling in for the other. Instead, he watched as Lady Jaye did her thing and then Flint did his.

Instead of improving upon their first effort, they completely fell apart on their second try. Hill glanced down at his notations on the clipboard. Flint, after a few false starts, attached the sensor to his target, a local actor hired to play the part of a shifty terrorist. Hill sensed that Lady Jaye had an inkling of where the target was but she remained silent and let Flint stumble about the streetscape. Now it was Lady Jaye's turn to use the monitor and locate the actor in the Alley. Hill knew where the actor lay hidden, but the two Joes didn't. All they had to go on was whatever the sensor picked up. Hill thought of the sensor as a tricky little minx with a mind of its own. The person on the job had to have complete control over the unit. Unfortunately, Flint wouldn't let Lady Jaye take that control. Where she had gone to one extreme, Flint slid to the other. Rather than let Lady Jaye master the equipment and play a supporting role, for whatever reason, the man wouldn't leave well enough alone and interjected himself into every step, interrupting and offering one suggestion after another. Hill wanted to take the man aside and give him a good shake of reason. Then again, Hill thought it might be worth it to head over to the Biograph, where the target actually was, grab some popcorn, stand back and watch the show unfold. Hill usually saved his bets for the Superbowl and Astros games, but if he was going to bet, he'd lay a week's wages on Lady Jaye opening up a can of whoop and decking Flint. Looking at his watch, the soldiers only had five minutes left to complete the exercise. Agent Hill shook his head, it wasn't going to happen. He checked off another box on his clipboard.

"Flint, I have it." Lady Jaye's voice was low and directed. The last thing she wanted was for the FBI agent to get involved.

"I think we can get a clearer signal, here let me." He reached a hand over her shoulder.

"Flint," she swatted his hand away, "you did your part, let me do mine."

"Hey," he held his hands up, "I'm just trying to help."

Lady Jaye let out a sharp exhale of air out of the side of her mouth, some of the wisps from her hair floating for a moment in the created breeze. She prayed for the patience of Job to get through the exercise but it wasn't happening. No matter what she did, Flint was a step off of her shoulder, just hovering there waiting for her to make mistake. She glanced over at the bear of an FBI agent and caught the subtle shake of his head as he wrote something down on that infernal clip board he carried around. She knew time was running out. Now if only Flint would step back, she could get the job done. She prayed for that patience to happen quickly, "I know, but please, I've got it." She boxed out Flint and drew the monitor around in a slow steady arc, just like Hill demonstrated. It was a rather testy piece of equipment, so sensitive that a sneeze could cause it to recalibrate. She straightened her stance, remembering Hill's advice that a steady base would help provide a steady signal. A soft tinny moan emanated from the device. The monitor swept past the theatre and the lone buzz was replaced by a quiet, barely discernible chirping. Bingo! That was the sound she wanted. An outline of the area surrounding the target began to fill out on the screen as the sensor emitted various radio waves that bounced around creating the 3-D image. Smiling, she was about to tap on the bottom to lock on the signal when from around her right side, Flint's hand appeared, tapping at the screen, thus knocking the device out of range and losing the signal.

She pivoted, her hope for patience long abandoned by the wayside, "What did you do!"

Flint stepped back, surprised, "I was just showing you, you had the signal. Good job!"

"Time," Hill called out.

"And now I don't. Thanks a lot."

"But you did."

Lady Jaye waved the device in Flint's face, "That doesn't matter now." She pointed to the blank screen, "See that, that's the look of me having just failed this exercise."

Flint shrugged, "It doesn't mean anything. We'll go again."

"Ahhhh!" Lady Jaye took a few steps away and whipped the monitor at Flint. "Just do it yourself then." She cut off Hill before he had a chance to utter a word, "And you, you stay out of this." Lady Jaye stormed off down the street and away from the men.

Flint turned to Hill, "Don't hold this against her."

"Oh I won't."

Flint smiled, "Thanks."

"But I didn't say I wouldn't hold it against you." Hill held up his clip board, pointing to a red "F" he had just scribbled next to Flint's name.

"Oh."

Agent Hill laughed, "If you can get her back here and remain in one piece, I'll give you guys another shot. No one will have to know."

"Roger that." Flint flashed Hill a thumbs up and hustled to catch Lady Jaye before she could do any damage to the alley.

"Hey!" Flint ran up to her. "I said hey!" He stopped and grabbed her shoulder, whipping her around to face him.

"Excuse me." She wrenched her shoulder away from his grasp.

"You're dangerously close to insubordination."

"And you're dangerously close to being a, a, jerk."

"Jerk?" He had to press his lips together to keep from laughing. If anything would set her off further, it would be the thought he was laughing at her.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No, lord no."

Arms crossed, body ramrod straight, Lady Jaye tapped her foot, not willing to budge an inch. Flint sighed, reached up, and scratched that spot just beneath his beret two times; he had no idea what he had done to set her off. Granted, they still hadn't talked about what happened in her hotel room, but it wasn't like Jaye to let a thing like that stand in the way of a mission, whether on the field or in a classroom. She was serious about her work and it was one of the things he admired about her. She would be professional. He would be professional, except it hadn't worked out that way. Ever since they returned to base, he knew all the signs of being ignored. Sure, she probably thought she was sly. She wasn't. He had avoided enough people in his day to know when he was on the receiving end. Maybe what happened was really bothering her. If so, they just needed to get it out in the open. She had to know how he felt. Maybe that would help. "Um, listen, I'm, I'm sorry, I know what . . ."

The buzzing of his Com-link silenced any further rambling. With a slight shake of his head, he held up a finger signaling it would be just a moment. Everyone back at base knew they were out training at Quantico. He had given strict orders to not disturb them unless it was an absolute emergency. Yesterday, when the air conditioning stopped working in the mess hall because Dusty was trying to freeze bananas in the condenser (Flint didn't want to know why), was exactly the kind of non-emergency he was trying to avoid. Holding the communicator to his lips, he prepared himself for another mishap, "Flint here. Breaker, this better be good."

"It's Duke."

"Oh, Duke. Hey, what's going on?"

Lady Jaye, upon hearing it was Duke, took a step closer and Flint held out the Com-link so that she could listen in to the conversation.

"Flint, a situation has come up and there's going to be a change of plans." Duke was the one who had insisted that they represent the unit in the training. If he was changing plans, it had to be big. "I need you two to report to downtown FBI Headquarters STAT. You'll be prepped on arrival. Ask for Agent Derrick Miller, he'll fill you in on the details. I'm going to try and round up some help, but we're stretched pretty thin around here."

"Roger that."

"Over and out." Duke signed off.

"Over and out." Flint ended the transmission, folded up his communicator, and reattached it to his belt holster, "Well, that settles that." He turned to Lady Jaye, searching for a sign in her face. She was good—and he thought he could read her—all that was staring back at him was a big blank slate. He couldn't read her to save his life. He couldn't help but feel that he was further from resolving things with her than a simple apology. Still, he would try. "Listen, I'm sorry. I can't help myself sometimes. I just wanted to help."

"Well," she turned her head, looking off toward the driving track, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to see his eyes, those eyes that could grab her and cut to her very heart. She couldn't resist and she looked up. Sure enough, he had that look on his face that could always make her smile. She was useless to fight it. The right side of her face curled up into a reluctant smile. "Maybe you could try to help yourself sometimes?"

"I'll try. I promise."

"It just makes me look . . ."

"I know. I didn't think of it like that. I'm sorry."

"Accepted."

He held out his hand, "Truce?"

She reached out and shook his hand, noticing that his touch lingered longer than necessary. It was as if he was holding her hand. She pushed the thought aside. They were partners, plain and simple. It could never be anything more than that. What happened in Kansas City was an anomaly. It was just a moment of weakness, for both of them. Besides the obvious career implications, she still couldn't shake the sting of knowing he felt sorry for her. That she was some object to be coddled. Wasn't that what he was doing during the exercise? Coddling her, protecting her because she couldn't manage on her own? She withdrew her hand and hooked her thumbs into her belt loops, ignoring Flint's perplexed reaction. With some hesitation, he turned and started heading back up the street to inform Agent Hill that their training was being cut short. She dutifully followed.

**The Marine Corps Research Center, Marine Corps Base Quantico, Virginia**

Seated in front of his friend Joseph's latest toy, Mainframe let out a long, drawn-out whistle, "Wow, Joe, this baby can compute." Mainframe caressed the silicon enclosed keyboard, pausing over its responsive keys that melded to his fingertips. "Man oh man, if the Microsoft boys got their paws on this."

"Easy Blaine, this is strictly a classified prototype. No need for Gates to get wind of this one."

"I know, I know."

"You say that but then next thing I know, Microsoft is suddenly able to halve its interface timing in less than two months."

"Joseph, that was purely a coincidence, you know that." Mainframe turned his attentions back to the keyboard, amazed at just how small it was. It would be perfect for the field. Passing it back and forth between his hands, he was amazed at just how light it was. It was like holding a cloud.

"I know. But still, if Microsoft changes its platform any time soon, I'm coming after you."

Mainframe laughed, "Warning heeded. But Joseph, I could care less about your platform; it's this keyboard I love. Where did you get it?"

Joseph grabbed a swivel chair and scooted next to Mainframe, who was sitting in front of a row of computer monitors and desktop processors trying to decide which ones he would volunteer to test in real-life conditions. "The R&D boys were fiddling around with some of the equipment and trying to make it more field-friendly. The stuff we have now is too clunky. It slows us down and breaks too easy. This," Joseph took the keyboard from Mainframe and began to point out its features, "uses a honeycomb polymer so it's strong but basically made of air. The keypads are heat responsive and over here is the fingerprint scanner. I can set it up so that it responds to you and only you."

Mainframe let out another long whistle.

"So," Joseph winked, "are you game? Will you be our guinea pig?"

Mainframe grabbed the keyboard back and held up his pointer finger, "Where do I sign?"

Joseph stood up, "Come on and I'll introduce you to the new R&D guys. They'll help get the paperwork started. And trust me, there's going to be some paperwork."

Mainframe stood up to follow his friend when his Com-link started to buzz, "Just a minute." He held it up to his ear, "Mainframe."

"Mainframe, this is Duke."

"Oh hi Duke. I'm picking up some great new toys to try out."

"Sorry Mainframe but I'm going to have to cut your visit short. We've had a situation arise and I need you to report to FBI Headquarters downtown as fast as you can. Ask for Agent Derrick Miller. Lady Jaye and Flint are en route. You'll receive your orders when you've all assembled."

Mainframe tried to disguise the disappointment in his voice. It was a rare opportunity when he could hang out at the Research Center for a few days and pick up some new tools. "Roger that Duke. I'll head out pronto."

"And Mainframe, I'm sorry you have to cut your visit short. I'll try to find a way to make it up. Over and out."

"Thanks Duke. I appreciate it. Over and out." Mainframe turned to Joseph, "Well, looks like my coach is about to turn into a pumpkin. Can I at least keep one glass slipper?"

Joseph laughed, "I think we can make arrangements. Just don't break it."

**Astrometry Department, U.S. Naval Observatory, Washington, DC**

John Harrison enjoyed playing tour guide with his old Navy buddy, Hector Delgado. John thought of all the trouble he and Hector used to get into at Great Lakes during basic. Both natural-born jokesters, they couldn't help themselves and soon found camaraderie as they discovered new and even less efficient ways to clean latrines with toothbrushes. One of their instructors once threatened to personally lock them up in Davy Jones's locker, throwing away the key so that no one would ever find it. Those were the days when they were young and carefree. But life and the Navy assignment system intervened and soon enough he and Hector were stationed across the world from each other with only time for short visits here and there. Despite the distance, their friendship flourished and Hector remained his closest confidant, serving as John's best man at his wedding, much to his bride's dismay, and just two days ago, as his daughter's godfather. It was a stroke of good luck that Hector was able to attend. Hector was now assigned to the G.I. Joe team and free time was scarce.

"And over here is the largest telescope on the grounds. Acquired in 1873, it was the world's largest refracting telescope until 1883, when it was surpassed by a telescope built for the Imperial Russian Observatory."

"Oooo, the Russians. I say we take it back."

"I wouldn't worry about that. There are even better ones out in the world today. Let the Russians have their day. Besides, this telescope here was used in the discovery of Mars' two moons. It's now chiefly used for determining the orbital motions and masses of double stars using a special camera known as the speckle interferometer, and for planetary satellite observations."

"Wait, what did you say? Speckle egg meter what?" Hector wrinkled up his nose.

"You don't change." John shook his head, "Never mind, let's check out the lab."

The men meandered across the observatory grounds to the Instrument Shop, where John was employed as Head. A navigation buff, John had worked his way up to ship's orienteer before being assigned to the Naval Postgraduate School in California. He graduated with a Master of Science Degree in Meteorology and Physical Oceanography. Prior to being stationed at the Observatory, he served at the Naval European Meteorology and Oceanography Center in Rota, Spain. Hector had visited John once while he was stationed out there, and was asked to never come back again, and not just by the Center. John was pretty confident Hector was kicked out of the city. He just couldn't remember and Claire, John's wife, forbid her husband to even mention that night.

John opened the door to the shop, letting Hector inside.

"So this is the fancy pancy laboratory where you build a better watch. I have to say though, my Timex takes a licking and keeps on ticking. You can't compete with that."

John pointed out the various instruments to Hector, "This shop is state of the art and we have the latest in Computer Numerical Control Machines and Inspection Equipment. The shop can design and manufacture instruments with precisions in the micron range with a wide variety of materials."

Hector rolled his eyes, "Is this the tour you give to the politico big wigs?" He then pretended to snore.

John punched Hector in the shoulder, "Please, just let me practice. Tomorrow is going to be a big day. We can't afford to have our budget cut any more than it already is. If they can see with their own eyes what kind of work we do here and understand its importance to the Navy, maybe we'll have someone lobby for us for a change. I know they don't fund us directly, but I'd like it if they were at least thinking about us."

"You know I'm just playing with you. John, if this was my Navy, you'd have your budget and the Marine's too."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

Hector motioned the man forward, "Please Captain, explain all this stuff to me. It looks like it does a lot of, um, stuff."

John chuckled, shaking his head back and forth, "You never disappoint. That's what I like about you." Taking a breath, he squared his shoulders and prepared to start his pitch again. "This is the instrument shop. It supports the mission of the Naval Observatory to observe the positions and motions of celestial bodies for astronomical and navigational purposes and for the derivation and broadcasting . . ."

Hector's Com-link started to buzz. "Man, can't I get a day off. Sorry John." Hector answered the call, "Shipwreck here."

"Shipwreck, Duke. I need you to get downtown."

"Duke, this is my week off. I promised you, I'll take on the entire weekend duty roster if I could just have this one week."

"I know, but we're spread thin and you're my closest guy."

"Well pretend I'm not close."

"Can't do that. I need you to report to FBI Headquarters and ask for Agent Derrick Miller. He'll give you your marching orders. I promise, if you finish this up by the weekend, you can have it off." Duke paused, "I know how important this is to you. I promise you'll get your time with her."

Reluctantly, Shipwreck conceded defeat, "I'm holding you to your word Duke. I'm not letting her down. I already have a bad enough reputation with Claire."

"Tell John and Claire hello and congratulations again. Over and out."

Shipwreck glared at the Com-link for a moment before reattaching it to his belt. "Should have forgotten the stupid thing at your house."

"And you know Claire would have answered it in a heartbeat." John retorted.

"Yeah, well, maybe I could have lost the message. Man, I'm sorry John. I really wanted to have time with Brigid. I've never been a godfather before. I'm going to do it right. No dating before 21 and anyone who tries will find a horse head in his bed."

John placed a hand on Hector's shoulder with a solid grip, "I know. She'll be here waiting for you. We all know what you do is important and this could happen. We'd still pick you anyway." John started to walk out of the shop, "You know, it was Claire's idea."

"Claire's idea? Man, childbirth knocked a few screws loose."

"No, it just helped us all realize what's important."

"You're trying to make me cry. It won't work. Now lead the way and get me downtown."


	6. Civilian

**Chapter 6: Civilian**

**12:00 p.m.**

**George Washington University Hospital, Intensive Care Unit**

A man pressed his nose up to the glass enclosing Michelle in a protective cocoon away from the world. He was an attractive individual in his 30s, with a tousle of carefully- styled jet black hair and blue eyes so dark you could drown in them. His face was angular with a prominent square jaw, hinting at Mediterranean roots. Beneath the drape of his suit jacket, cut slightly looser than the popular style as if to accommodate sudden movement, one could tell he maintained his physique. He walked with an acrobat's ease and a dancer's grace. Michelle lay quiet, her breathing assisted by the machines surrounding her. He felt a pang of guilt that he was helpless to stop her suffering. He reached up and pressed his hand against the glass, trying to reach out to her. It was no use. Seeing her brought back so many memories that he was helpless to block them all out. He knew it was her the moment he saw the figure in the bed. It wasn't that she looked the same, it was that she looked intimately familiar, as if he could step into old roles and continue on, ignoring the day when it all ended. Her dark hair was shorter, more professional he supposed. Smiling, he recalled lazy days spent entwining his fingers through her long, thick, wavy locks. She always thought him odd, his fascination with her hair, but she allowed him his one indulgence. A few more lines presented themselves around her eyes. If they would only open and look at him. Just for a moment to feel her gaze, to feel that comfort in the love of another. They remained closed, twitching ever so slightly. Could she be dreaming of him? He directed his stare and followed the outline of her body from her slender arm prodded and invaded by needles and tubes to the faint outline of her legs. Hungarian gymnast legs she called them. He thought them lovely, she thought them too short. More powerful than slender, he drank in the sight of her when she wore a miniskirt. His brother had a thing for leggy blondes, but he knew he had a thing for her.

"You came."

He turned to face the voice, recognizing at once the face of Michelle's sister, Sarah. "I came as soon as I was able." Sarah eyed him with distrust. He knew she had never forgiven him for what had happened, that she thought his reasons were timid and hollow. Maybe she was right but Sarah could never truly understand his situation, not like Michelle did.

Sarah turned to look at her sister and he had chance to observe her profile. Sarah was, objectively, the more striking of the two sisters. Slightly taller, slightly thinner than Michelle, she possessed the physique lauded in fashion spreads. He could appreciate beauty, even if he did not find himself personally attracted to it. In this case, Sarah was just an attractive package. He wasn't interested in packages the way his brother was. Michelle had a habit of complaining that she was the more concentrated version of the two. He always laughed. There was nothing concentrated about Michelle. She was kind and thoughtful, quiet and astute. Sarah was just used to flaunting her looks to get her way. It obviously was not working in this instance because he could sense the frustration in her stance, feel the indignation in her voice. There was more though. Sarah loved her sister and was scared. If she wasn't sacred he would never have known what happened. Not right away when he still may impact future events.

Sarah leaned her forehead against the glass and addressed him again, "I don't know what to do Tom. No one will tell me anything. All I know is what I told you and it's not a lot. I can't help feeling that it's bad, really bad." She wiped away a tear threatening to fall down her left cheek.

He continued to look at her, "I will find out."

She tipped her head towards him, never losing contact with the glass panel, "It's bad isn't it?" Her voice was plaintive, looking for reassurance he knew he couldn't provide.

"Yes."

"Does he know you've come? Do I have to worry about that?"

"No. We've had some, difficulties, lately."

"It killed her when you left."

"I know."

"But you left anyway. How could you?" Sarah turned away from him again, her face starring into the darkness of Michelle's room.

"Are we here to start this again or do you want my help?"

Sarah sighed, it was too easy to slip into the role of Michelle's protector. It was too easy to hate him again. She brought her hand up, petting the glass, trying to offer comfort and reassurance across the distance. "No, we need you. She needs you."

He turned back to Michelle, reaching his hand up to grasp Sarah's, clenching it tight, he fought against the waves of emotion threatening to break his calm exterior. He had to be careful to hide his feelings, not just from the outside, but from the inside, especially the inside. He was needed and he did no good if he exposed his plans. "I will figure this out. Michelle will come back to you." He said it, those words he couldn't deny. Michelle would pull through, but for Sarah, not for him.


	7. Cone of Light

**Chapter 7: Cone of Light**

**2:10 p.m.**

**J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, DC**

Flint drummed his fingers on the conference room table, anxious for the meeting to start. For some reason, this conference room put him on edge even though, from its looks, it was designed to do otherwise. Someone had taken care to create a serene oasis in the midst of the bureaucratic nightmare that was the Hoover Building. Planned and built during the 60s, the structure was an imposing monolith of concrete and marble built in the brutalist style common to public buildings of those days. "Never trust an architect named Stanislaw to draw up something warm and cozy," Agent Miller quipped as he led the soldiers through the maze of corridors and stairwells. The special agent spun a yarn about tour guides getting lost for hours in the Esher-like halls and having to call for help, stranded on some remote floor with groups of tired and hungry tourists. But the conference room was a different beast entirely. When Agent Miller first led them into the room, the agent, sensing the soldiers' surprise, preemptively responded, "Sometimes we spend a lot of time in this room, _a lot_ of time. We make do."

And make do they did. Flint couldn't argue with the agents wanting to create a different atmosphere than the one provided by the usual GSA-approved Navajo-white sterile boxes. But there was something unsettling about waltzing in to what amounted to his grandfather's study. A plush oriental carpet in muted pastel shades cushioned his feet while his body was cradled in the comforts of a very fine Italian leather swivel chair, complete with matching lumbar pillow. Each seat had its own pop-up reading lamp. A bookshelf lined one wall, filled to capacity with black and white binders and dog-eared manuals of some sort. The remaining walls were covered with striped wallpaper and mahogany chair rails. This room had class. Then why did he feel so awkward?

Maybe it was the company. Mainframe was alright. He had no beefs with the computer techie. His stock portfolio owed the man a few favors. Likewise, Agent Miller seemed harmless enough. The remaining cast of characters, however, had his stomach in knots. First up was Lady Jaye. Sitting just to his left, she might as well be a million miles away. He thought they had reached a truce on whatever transgressions he may have had. If so, someone needed to tell her. He hadn't been able to get anything out of her since they left Quantico. He inwardly sighed; FBI headquarters wasn't the only thing lacking warmth. Seated next to Lady Jaye was Shipwreck. The name said it all. How he was the only person available for Duke to send he'd never know. Then there was Deputy Director Patterson. Sure he looked like your favorite uncle on the surface. But Flint knew from experience that underneath he was no doubt all Dr. Roth, an unforgiving academic who knew he was the smartest man in the room and had no qualms about letting you know it. Usually that was Flint's job. Flint was a little uneasy at being usurped. He knew he had to keep his nose to the grindstone on this mission, whatever it may be.

Patterson looked around the room, "Is this everyone then?"

Agent Miller nodded his head, "We just need to get Herrera on the line." Miller grabbed a black box from a side table, dialed in a code, and Agent Herrera's booming hello filled the room.

"Good then." Patterson addressed his comments to the Joes, "I want to thank you for coming on such short notice. We've encountered a situation with which I believe you all have more familiarity." Patterson then launched into a brief recap of the past 48 hours and the mysterious illness affecting the metro passengers.

"Director," Shipwreck leaned forward in his chair, "Seems to me this is all in your bailiwick. Isn't this the kind of thing you guys do?" He was finding it hard to reign in his frustration. For all the things to be called off of leave, sick people in DC? Surely the FBI was more than adequately equipped to handle this one.

Flint inwardly groaned. None of them were particularly happy about the situation, but they were Joes and they would conduct themselves with the upmost decorum. He poked his head around Lady Jaye, glaring at Shipwreck.

Shipwreck met his stare head on, "What? You know it's true. Probably a case of bad sushi."

Patterson stepped in, "No, I understand. Generally, yes, this is a situation we would handle. We believe, however, that these events may have a more sinister origin. Herrera, would you please provide the team with what you've found."

Agent Herrera detailed the findings his unit had made thus far while Agent Miller pressed another button on the black box and a screen dropped down from the ceiling at the far end of the room. Flint made a mental note to lobby Duke to get one of those black boxes. No way should the FBI have better toys than the Joes. The Metro station video feed appeared on the screen. Miller working a few more buttons paused the tape and zoomed in on the image of the faceless man.

Forgetting his interest in the FBI agent's technology, Flint uttered out loud, "Well I'll be." He placed an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand, "Zartan."

"That's what I thought but I knew you could confirm." Patterson checked off one item on his mental checklist.

"Um Sir, Zartan?" Agent Miller looked around the room, "Who's Zartan?"

"More like what's Zartan. Dude is one nasty for-hire chameleon that we usually find crawling around with the snakes." Shipwreck frowned; the situation had taken a turn for the worse. Any hope he had of making it out to get back to Claire and John's in time for dinner was just shot to pieces.

"Snakes?" Agent Miller glanced around at the Joes.

"Cobra, a ruthless terrorist organization determined to rule the world," Mainframe deadpanned.

"Because everybody wants to rule the world," Shipwreck couldn't help humming. He winked at Lady Jaye, ignoring Flint's glower, "It's Polly's favorite song."

Lady Jaye tried hard not to laugh out loud at that one. As Flint steamed, she occupied herself with counting the flowers woven into the carpet. It reminded her of the afternoons spent in Grandmother Hart's personal library suffering through the endless lessons on what it meant to be a "lady." _Ha_, she smiled to herself, if Grandmother Hart only knew what kind of lady she was now. Glancing over at Flint, she wished there was a way she could peel the tension off of him. The more she worked with him, the more she found she could instinctively know how he'd react. It was weird, knowing him this well. In front of the FBI Director, he would want to appear in command, unflappable, and confident. Flint was usually the man in charge. Here, it was Patterson. Flint wouldn't want any funny business. With Shipwreck, funny business was pretty much what the sailor brought to the table. The two of them on this mission were going to be oil and water at best. She'd seen it before. Shipwreck would make some quip and Flint would stew. Sometimes though, she wished Flint would let down his guard around the team the way he was starting to do with her. She liked it when he was less bluster and more, human. Humans had fun. She had fun with the human Flint. Although, truth be told, she kind of liked the robo-Flint, as Alpine would mock behind his back. She found she was attracted to his take-charge side. There was something about the way he oozed masculinity. It was a special brand only he possessed, otherwise, good lord, she'd be throwing herself at practically anything that walked, Beachhead included. Shuddering at that thought, it came down to the essence of who Flint was. There was no denying it; she was hooked, even if her didn't see her in quite the same light. But she wasn't going down that road. Not now. Now it was the mission and it didn't matter how different Flint could be around her. What mattered was how different Ms. Parke was. Did she have a secret life? Otherwise, why would Zartan be involved? "Ms. Parke. If Zartan is involved, it's a good guess Cobra is. Does she have any connection to them or is she involved in something that Cobra would want to influence? Why would they have him take her out?"

"Best as we can tell, Ms. Parke doesn't have any connection to Cobra nor does it appear that she's involved with anything." Agent Miller answered.

"Actually, I think we shouldn't jump to that conclusion." Herrera broke in.

Miller popped his head up in surprise, "What?"

"I initiated a soft meet with Ms. Parke's sister yesterday." Herrera continued, "I may have led her to believe that I was a doctor and asked a few questions about Ms. Parke's history. She claimed that Ms. Parke didn't have any involvement with anyone. Ms. Parke seemed clean. However, after we spoke, the sister placed a phone call to a dummy number and briefly spoke with an individual, a man, I think."

"Dummy number, nice." Mainframe shook his head, "Did you trace the switchboard?"

"Bermuda is as far as we got before the connection timed."

"Dummy number?" Lady Jaye looked over at Mainframe.

"It's a false number, kind of like a paging service. You dial one number and you get bounced around a few different exchanges and, after dialing a code, get bounced around a few more times before being connected with your party. If you don't want anyone to know where you are, you set one of these up. Expensive as hell but damn near impossible to trace. We aren't finding her friend anytime soon."

"Actually, I think he came to us." Agent Herrera replied. "Early this afternoon, Ms. Parke's sister had a visitor. He did his homework. Not one security camera got a good view. Miller, can you bring up that file I sent you?"

Miller pressed a few more buttons on his black box, bringing up a fuzzy security camera still of the back of a dark-haired man speaking with Ms. Parke's sister. "This was the clearest shot." Herrera said.

The man was familiar to Lady Jaye. She couldn't say where or how, but she knew him. It was his carriage and stance, the way he was built. Why would she know him? _Think Alison, think_, she chided herself. Stealing another glance toward Flint, she felt a mild embarrassment when her eyes met his already watching her. Flint cracked a half-smile, "you caught me," he mouthed to her.

Lady Jaye raised her eyebrows and her left hand in an open question, _we know this guy_.

Flint was on the same wavelength and tapped the right side of his forehead, i_t's in here. You're right. We know this guy_.

She scrunched up her nose, shoulders slightly raised, _Cobra?_

His face was blank, eyes darting to the front, _Class has resumed, time to pay attention to the teacher_.

". . . cameras and couldn't pinpoint another image. He knew all the locations." Herrera continued on.

Lady Jaye hoped she didn't miss too much. Still, she couldn't shake that nagging feeling about the man on the screen, and usually it was that nagging feeling that saved your hide.

"We also learned that Extensive Enterprise no longer owns Exclusive Food and Beverage. Just . . ."

"What?" Patterson's baritone rang across the room, interrupting Herrera. "When did this happen?" Patterson scratched his head. He found he was asking this question a little too often on this case. Why did he feel that he was fumbling around in the dark on this mission and just a pawn in someone else's game?

"Some time in the past hour Sir. The SEC filings were all pulled. We have copies but now there are no records in the SEC's database. SEC denies that the transaction ever took place."

"Where there any names attached with the filing?" Lady Jaye leaned back in her chair.

"The registered agent was Tomaso Iloaps. Haven't found anything on him yet."

"Tomax." Lady Jaye and Flint spoke in unison, turning toward each other.

"That's the same name that showed up in Denver." Lady Jaye felt the floodgates spring open, "and it had to be him at the hospital. But why?"

"I don't know but he's leaving us clues. He wants us to find him." Flint nodded his head in agreement.

"So what now?"

"We go to him. How is the hard part." Flint set his jaw, mulling over the prospect.

"All we have worked out right now is the maintenance crew."

Flint shook his head, "No, too suspicious. Those guys have been there too long. It's the Fred series. They never change."

"We can still try to insert someone in for a short time. It might work."

Flint pondered that one for a moment and realized that the eyes and ears of the room were focused on them. "Uh, Jaye?"

"Yeah?"

"We probably should let them in."

"What?" She had become so wrapped up in her brainstorming efforts with Flint that the entire room had vanished from her mind. Turning her chair back toward the table, her cheeks reddened slightly and she felt like she'd been caught making out in a coat closet. Shipwreck waved hello while Agent Miller pretended to be engrossed in fiddling with something on his black box.

Patterson smiled, "Yes, you probably should let us in."

Flint began, "Jaye and I were on a mission where Tomax," Flint turned toward Agent Miller, "he's part of Cobra's high command, used that name as an alias. He's dropped references to it a few times since then. I suspect," Lady Jaye cleared her throat, "Sorry, we suspect that he didn't want us to forget that name. We think he's put out an invitation for us. Question is how do we respond?"

Patterson bobbed his head, "What's with the maintenance crew?"

"That was an idea we had," Lady Jaye placed a subtle emphasis on the word "we" and smiled when Flint kicked her chair, "to gain access to Extensive Enterprises' New York headquarters. We'd try to have someone infiltrate through the maintenance crew. They have a separate entrance, separate id's, no set uniform. That way we wouldn't have to worry about front desk security or close interaction with any of the bigwigs. The problem with that approach is there hasn't been any turnover in their crew. All those employees have been there for at least 15 years."

"And a new person showing up one day would set off some warning bells." Patterson looked over at Agent Miller, "Would we have anything?"

Agent Miller scrunched up his features as he racked his mind for some idea, "I don't think so Sir. We could probably get someone in through that route but it would take too much time, especially if the Joes have already thought of it." The agent shook his head, "I don't see how we could make it work any better."

"There's the other possibility?" Flint's voice trailed off into uncertainty.

Lady Jaye turned back toward Flint, "You mean the maid brigade?"

"Please, upscale cleaning service."

Lady Jaye exhaled a small grunt and rolled her eyes.

Flint held up his arms, "The lady doth disagree. It would be good for a quick in and out. Sure it isn't viable for long-term surveillance but short term? Short term could . . ."

Lady Jaye shook her head, "You just like the outfits."

Patterson chuckled, interjecting himself into the conversation before the two Joes ran off any further, "Maid brigade?"

Leaning back into her chair, folding her arms across her chest, Lady Jaye smirked, "Yes, tell them about the _upscale_ _cleaning service_."

"Well, as old as the maintenance crew is, their corporate office cleaning staff is, well, newer to the world."

"And hot?" Shipwreck pushed himself forward into the conference room table. "If so, sign me up, right away. I volunteer."

"Shipwreck, if they're hot that definitely leaves you out." Mainframe smiled and settled into his seat. It wasn't often that he got the opportunity to let a few zingers fly. He was on a roll today.

Shipwreck threw a gum wrapper at Mainframe, "Leaves you out too, geek boy." Surveying the room, "Actually, only one of us makes the grade."

"Why thank you Shipwreck." Flint winked at Lady Jaye as she gave him a high five. Finally, a little loosening of the collar. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to bring in a little reality check. She was getting too ahead of herself. _Remember before, remember before_, she chided herself. _Teammates, only teammates_.

Flint mentally congratulated himself. Jaye pointed out one time that he had a tendency to act as if he had just sat down the wrong way on a yardstick. It didn't paint a particularly flattering picture of his leadership style and he was working on "lightening up, 'ol grumpy pants," he believed was the exact phrase she employed. He was feeling a bit more relaxed around Patterson, and Cobra, well Cobra was a cake walk compared to any of the numerous things for which the FBI could seek to consult with the Joes. Maybe he could handle this one. And then, he quickly glanced to his left, maybe he could iron that out. First things first, "Shipwreck is right. Only one of us makes the grade to be a maid." He offered a sympathetic grimace to Jaye, "Sorry," then back to the rest of the room, "Xamot's tastes tend to shift with the weather and there's an extremely high turnover in their visible cleaning staff. Pretty much new girls every week. One week blondes, the next brunettes, you see the pattern. We just need to know who's on first and be prepared to be on second. When we devised this particular plan for a future Joe operation, we assumed it would be Lady Jaye undercover, I'd be back-up, and Mainframe would run the computers. The mission was designed to insert a bug into either of the twins' computers. Obviously the parameters have changed and we won't worry about planting a chip. Still, I trust Tomax about as far as I can throw him and I'm worried about sending her in without being able to get to her quickly."

Lady Jaye's head cocked up at an angle upon taking in Flint's last words. Here it was coming out then, he didn't trust her to handle a mission. Prior to Kansas City, Flint wouldn't have mentioned one iota of concern for her ability to handle herself. Now, well, now it was different. "I think I can handle it Flint."

Now it was Shipwreck's turn to react. The biting way that sentence came out was a huge beacon to the sailor that this was it. No way could Jaye be that mad if there weren't any underlying currents of tension, and tension in a good way, between the two. Ace's pool was about to pay off for him. If he could string it out for a few more days, he'd hit pay dirt. He licked his lips, almost tasting the victory that would be his.

"I know you can handle it. I don't know about him. I don't trust him. We planned this thing to be covert. But if you're making contact, that changes the calculus." There was so much more he wanted to say, but this wasn't the place. No, not here, not in front of these strangers and friends. He had meant every word he said in Kansas City. He trusted her implicitly; it was all those with whom she would have to interact—the worst that man had to offer—that he feared.

Patterson, sensing the delicate balancing act put on by Flint, waited for the two Joes to settle their differences. He had a suspicion that Flint's concern was more than just mission deep. Call him an old romantic fool but he would root for it to work out between these two. It had to be hard in their positions. He knew what it was like. Patterson met his wife at the Bureau. She had been an agent at a time when there weren't many females taking on the job. He first saw her at the academy. Talks between classes soon led to a three-year long distance romance conducted entirely by inter-department delivery envelopes when he was stationed in Omaha and she in Buffalo. Hopefully the two Joes wouldn't have to wait as long.

Patterson observed a subtle bob of Lady Jaye's head; she had backed down. "We can round up a surveillance operator to keep close tabs. If anything threatens to happen, we're the FBI, we'll just storm the place." Patterson winked at Flint.

Flint set his jaw, "Well, hopefully Tomax is in a cooperative mood and it won't come to that." Flint looked over at Mainframe, "Do you think we can do it?"

"Well, there will be a few things we'll need but we'll manage I think."

Flint turned to Lady Jaye. She was the most important piece of the puzzle, if she thought it was a bad idea, he'd nix the operation, no questions asked, "You?"

She looked him straight in the eyes, "I won't wear that dress."

"Oh, no fair!" Shipwreck slapped his hand on the table. "I miss out on all the good stuff."


	8. Let It Ride

**Chapter 8: Let It Ride**

**The next day: 10:10 a.m.**

**Extensive Enterprises, 200 Park Avenue, New York City**

Front desk security guard Vincent Pataski gave only a passing glance at the rather attractive redhead struggling to swipe her badge at elevator bank two's turnstiles. She clearly was another "hire" at Extensive Enterprises. No other tenant in the building seemed to have a perpetual need for provocatively dressed females wearing a bit too much make up. Not that Vincent had any problems with that. He considered it to be one of the perks of his job. Every week or so he was treated to a new version of New York's finest, and he wasn't talking about its cops. Vincent went back to running down the building's schedule of visitors for the day. It was almost sad how he was becoming immune to the endless parade of beauty. Man those twins had it made.

The twins. That was another matter entirely. Vincent shook his head; the twins that ran Extensive Enterprises were some mighty weird individuals. Creepy too, the way they would complete each other's sentences. He avoided any direct contact with them when at all possible. The one, Tomax was it? Or maybe it was Xamot? What kind of name was Xamot anyway? No, he thought, it was Tomax. Tomax didn't seem quite as bizarre, heck, perverted, as his brother. O'Brien down in the basement control room had amassed quite a collection of kinky videos spliced together from the stairway security feed where Xamot entertained many of the same ladies he often witnessed trying to enter the building. Once one of the girls went off with Xamot, that was it, she wouldn't be back. The security staff would often gather together at night on the first Tuesday of the month to view O'Brien's latest creation and toast farewell to that month's crop of girls. Vincent had the nagging feeling Xamot knew exactly what the security crew was doing and took great pains to put on some show-stopping performances. A shiver went down Vincent's spine as he remembered last month's finale with the petite, long-haired blonde. Had to be a former gymnast, both of them.

Looking up, Vincent wondered if he should offer the girl some help with her badge. She was having quite the time trying to insert it into the card reader on the turnstile. It almost didn't seem to fit the way she was jamming it into the slot. She probably wasn't doing it right. Vincent pushed back from the console, and straightened his tie. Come to think of it, this one was kind of cute. He always had a thing for redheads and this one seemed to have some life behind her. In a way, he felt sorry for her. It was a stupid thought but if he got to know her he might be able to prevent her from future regrets. Shrugging, he thought that at least he wouldn't mind knowing her name.

Swiping the badge through the reader was doing absolutely nothing. The card the FBI techies devised was too thick to glide easily through the slot. As a result, the machine wasn't processing the magnetic strip. Lady Jaye mumbled a few Gaelic curses under her breath. She stopped her efforts for a moment to spit out a piece of wig stuck to her lip gloss. She was having second thoughts about the whole operation. It was too hurried. The team didn't run through its usual checks, double-checks, and triple checks. For starters, anyone with any taste who got too close could probably surmise that she wasn't a real redhead. It wasn't the most high quality wig and was a little too bright for her coloring. She could pass as a ginger but it had to be the right kind of ginger, more Maureen O'Hara and less Lucille Ball. She was treading a little too close to the latter's territory. And speaking of redheads, she reached down and ever so subtly pulled at the lycra and spandex slowly riding its way up all sorts of uncomfortable places, giving her what she felt was a perma-wedgie. How anyone could think that a skintight jumpsuit was a comfortable choice for work wear was beyond her comprehension. Thank god she only had to wear this thing for a few hours. Day in and day out? No thank you.

Lady Jaye turned her attention back to maneuvering the fake badge through the card slot. It was just a hair off. Glancing to her right, she muttered a few more choice words as she watched the guard take an interest in her. She was taking too long and it wasn't going unnoticed. _Great_, she thought in her head, _just frigging great_. "Tell your boys they suck," she muttered under her breath.

"What's that milady?" J.T. Hill's voice flooded Lady Jaye's right ear.

"Turn it down cowboy. You're going to give me a migraine."

"This better?" J.T.'s voice was now a quiet buzz, practically blending into the background.

"Yeah." Lady Jaye leaned down and pretended to adjust the strap of her boot. Out of Vincent's immediate sight she relayed the bad news to J.T., who had been assigned by Patterson to be her "guardian angel," thus placating Flint. Happy to be associated with the field once more, J.T. told his wife a little fib and soon found himself hovering over the Hudson while running surveillance on the Joe's Tomahawk.

"Well little lady, pull out. I'll tar those boys and we'll think of something else."

"I don't," Lady Jaye paused to pick some more of the wig strands off of her lips. It gave her an idea. "Hold on." She imagined she could hear Flint in the background fussing about the latest snafu. She didn't want to deal with his doubts. She could complete this mission, no matter how high the deck was stacked against her. Praying for speed as she watched the guard stand up and adjust his tie, she took the card and ran her lips over it, depositing enough of the sticky gloss to coat the magnetic strip. It worked and the card slid through the reader. A light on the side of the turnstile turned green and she pushed her way through just as Vincent called out to her. "One down." She whispered to J.T. as she waited for the elevator.

The next part would be a bit trickier. Mainframe, in tandem with the cursed FBI boys, hacked into Extensive Enterprises' main server and breached the building access files. Contained in the files was the list of all Maid Brigade Upscale Cleaning, Inc.'s employees utilized by Extensive Enterprises. There were enough headshots that Mainframe thought he could start his own modeling agency. The girls were exquisite. Included within the list of 186 "maids" was now number 187, Cheryl P. Tiegs, an aspiring Broadway actress who bore more than a passing resemblance to Lady Jaye.

"Cheryl Tiegs?" Lady Jaye exclaimed when Mainframe handed her the badge and id. "Cheryl Tiegs?"

Mainframe looked a bit sheepish as he explained he and the FBI boys couldn't think of anything else.

"Ah, Cheryl Tiegs, she was my first poster," Shipwreck closed his eyes reminiscing about many a morning waking up under Ms. Tieg's watchful eyes. "I think Wetsuit still has her picture on his locker."

"Cheryl Tiegs? You're joking." Lady Jaye surveyed the room full of middle-aged men and came to the realization that they weren't. She could see it in their eyes; each one cherishing fond memories of adolescent summers spent pining over their idealized sun-kissed muse. When presented with the right opportunity, how could they not give homage to those long-gone carefree days of youth? With a shake of her head, she pocketed the identification. "You do realize Cheryl Tiegs isn't exactly a name that's going to fly under the radar."

"We thought of that actually." Mainframe, eager for the chance to further explain the rationale, raced ahead with his thoughts, "We thought that it might be a good signal to Tomax that we received his messages and are responding with our own. I thought if we just used a generic name, you might get lost in the shuffle. But if we used this name, Tomax might know to be on the lookout for you. That's what we want. Right?"

Lady Jaye wasn't so sure. She preferred anonymity, blending into the crowd. She'd rather find Tomax than have him go looking for her. That gave him the upper hand. It was never good to give a twin the upper hand. But it was what it was and Tomax had to know she was coming. Shaking her head, she watched the slow march of numbers signal the elevator's ascent up into the world of Extensive Enterprises. Lady Jaye began to mentally prepare herself for the next step, getting past the front desk. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. With the first exhale, she was Ms. Tiegs. Another breath, this was a job to pay the bills. This was a job to afford New York until her big break, which would come. Next breath, she had so many promising auditions. Why not use what god gave her to make some money. Anyone in her position would do the same. And exhaling again, an unfortunate moniker would not come between her and the stage lights. When the elevator stopped at floor 58, the woman getting off the elevator was not the same one who had stepped on. Walking out into the lobby was a woman with a chip on her shoulder hiding the shame underneath. Stopping in front of the receptionist's desk, Lady Jaye stuck her chin up proudly, handing over her building badge and id, "I was called to sub today." The words were direct and forceful yet the receptionist sneered. She had seen enough of these girls come and go, selling their souls for a chance at the high life that would never come. Although she wasn't expecting any personnel changes today, clearly the girl in front of her was just another one in the endless parade. The receptionist gave Jaye the once over with a dismissive sigh and began the process of running her credentials.

Jaye managed to appear indifferent despite her worries that the FBI techs and Mainframe hadn't had enough time to make her cover legit. She could feel her hands begin to tremble, a sure give-away. To keep occupied, she distracted herself by looking around the lobby. She had to hand it to Extensive Enterprises, the twins had fine taste. The lobby was sleek and modern, hard angles and sharp curves, blinding primary colors offset by brilliant white and glossy black. She couldn't confirm, but she could swear that the chairs flanking the perimeter were original Le Cobusiers. And the painting behind the receptionist? Had to be a Picasso.

"Ms., um, Tiegs?" The receptionist, typing on her keyboard, glanced up at Lady Jaye with a smirk, "You'll be working in Messieurs Paoli's offices today. You'll find your supplies down that hallway in Room 5812. The offices are at the end."

"Thank you." Lady Jaye took her badge back from the receptionist, breathing a sigh of relief, happy to have avoided confrontation. The sooner she could get this over with, the happier she'd be. She didn't really need any supplies but in keeping with her cover she scanned the doors for 5812. Finding it, she pulled open the door to find a large supply closet. Perfect. Shutting the door behind her, she called upon J.T., "Ok, I'm in the front door."

"Glad to hear it."

"I have to turn you off now."

"Now hold on there little lady. This isn't the plan." J.T. was crouched in the back of the helicopter, headphones plastered to his ears. He looked across to the pilot, Flint. Gulping, J.T. knew Flint wasn't going to like this development one bit. "Use your head lady. I'm here to help."

"I know, I'm calling an audible. They might pick up on this signal. I need my full attention on him and I can't be worried that he thinks you'll come barging in. Tomax isn't going to talk if he thinks we're not alone. I'll reconnect after the rendezvous and we'll meet on the roof as planned. Jaye out." Lady Jaye reached up and pulled the two-way bud out of her ear, pressing it off and placing it in the front pocket of her jumpsuit. Call it gut instinct but she knew Tomax wouldn't be as forthright if he thought there were others privy to the conversation. Whatever he was doing, he was doing his best to keep it under wraps. She was here and she wasn't going to let anything jeopardize the mission.

"Ok Jaye, you can do this. Easy peasy." She grabbed one of the premade cleaning baskets, straightened her shoulders, and readied herself for the next part.

Halfway across the city, J.T. stomped his foot, "Dang-nab it!"

J.T.'s words were picked up loud and clear by Flint. "J.T., what's wrong?"

J.T. switched channels to speak with Flint, "Sorry buddy, but I passed the wrong Joe."

"What do you mean?" Flint got a lump caught in his throat. He almost didn't need J.T. to tell him what happened. He could sense it, "God damn it Jaye!" He scratched that little spot above his forehead that no longer grew any hair, "What did she say?"

"Girl called an audible. Said Mr. Tomax wasn't going to talk to her if I was chatting in her ear. Said she'll contact us afterward and meet up as planned."

Flint dug into that bare spot above his forehead, attacking it. "Ow!" Pulling away, he noticed a splotch of blood on his finger. He had scratched straight through his epidermis. That's what Jaye did to him on these missions. He really needed to learn to manage his emotions; he wasn't going to have anything left on his head if he didn't. And he had to admit, she was right. Tomax was elusive. He wasn't going to take the bait if he thought there was any danger to himself. They had figured it was a crapshoot if he was even going to reach out to her. She could handle herself. He witnessed it every day. Then why was it still this hard? _Because of what you haven't said. Because, if something happened, she wouldn't know_. His shoulders slumped. Damn the regs, damn it all. He had regrets in his life, this wasn't going to be one. "Well, we wait then. Stick on the channel just in case. Make sure Miller is ready to go if necessary."

"Roger that buddy." J.T. switched channels and called Miller, who was waiting in a van just in front of the building with a squad at the ready. Patterson wasn't kidding when he said they were the FBI.


	9. The Rake's Song

**Chapter 9: The Rake's Song**

**10:40 a.m.**

**Extensive Enterprises, 200 Park Avenue, New York City**

High above the glistening streets of Midtown Manhattan, Lady Jaye faced two doors, both marked "Mr. Paoli." One game later of eenie-meenie-miney-mo and she pushed open the door on the right. Stepping inside, she knew she picked wrong; it was Xamot's office. Decorated in the same Bauhaus-style as the lobby, the office was a showroom of functional architecture. It was the opposite of the one office she could recall, her father's. Her father's office had been cluttered and lived in, pictures filling empty surfaces and various useless gifts that only kids gave their fathers were on proud display. This office felt cold. The glass desk in the center of the room had a phone and a pad of paper on it, nothing else. In front of the desk was a Noguchi coffee table surrounded by a trio of Barcelona chairs. The remainder of the immense corner office was a museum. In one corner recessed spotlights illuminated a few found object sculptures perched on steel pedestals. Opposite, she allowed her eyes to bug out for a moment, a Jackson Pollack painting covered most of the wall. Xamot was a collector. In different circumstances she probably would have enjoyed discussing his acquisitions. In these circumstances she thought she was fortunate he wasn't there. That would have been a bit awkward. Backing out, she went for door number two.

Closing the second door behind her, she knew this office belonged to Tomax. His office, while large and luxurious, didn't reflect the severity of Xamot's. There was a certain feel of home to it, a sense of the classic. "Tomax? Are you here?" She stepped further in, eyes darting around in the semi-darkness, searching for any signs of life. "Tomax?"

In one corner, a large mahogany desk was angled to view the entire space. Surrounded by plush green chairs, this was something she expected to see in her father's study. She let down her guard just a smidge. A seating area, complete with oriental carpet, sofa and love seat was welcoming. This is where they took their blue blood clients. Xamot's office was for the upstarts. She walked over to the bookshelf lining the wall next to the door and placed the cleaning supplies on the floor. She wasn't even going to try. As she took in the titles lining the shelves, she willed herself to act nonchalant. Some of the greatest finds of English literature took up residence. She ran her finger across a set of original Dickens, stopping at Great Expectations. Of course he would have all three volumes of the first edition. A bookmark poked out of the first volume. She couldn't help herself and pulled the book off the shelf, opening to the bookmark upon which "To Tom, I saw no shadow of another parting from you," was scribbled in feminine script. Her hand quivered as she slid the book back into place.

"I see we have similar taste." She jumped at the sound, and pivoted to see Tomax step away from his desk. "Did I surprise you?"

"Tomax."

"You received my message, good. I had hoped it would be you."

"I'm sorry?"

Tomax began to walk across the room toward her. "The Joes could have sent anyone. I wanted it to be you, sweet, misunderstood Lady Jaye."

"What?" She willed her body to stay put and hold its ground even as Tomax's overtures freaked her out to no end.

"Oh don't what me. Every little piece put into play was to catch your eye. I called you. I knew you of all people would understand." He took another step toward her.

She shook her head, unsure how to respond. Why her? What could she possibly understand?

"I knew you would understand the binds of family. Love and loss, you know as well as I do what family can reap. It's what drives you; it's what makes you tick. Why do you dirty your hands in the mud when your corner office should be higher than mine? To anyone else, you make no sense. But I understand you. I find you," he paused for a moment, eyes closed, a faint shiver running down his body. His eyes snapped open, "fascinating." He took another step in her direction. She held firm, her entire body screaming to run, run far away. Her mind struggled for control of her limbs. She had to maintain her ground. Never give in to the twins; they played with your head. That's all he was doing now. He didn't know her any better than some random person off the street. It was all just a game.

"Oh my sweet girl, you think I'm toying with you." His mouth spread into a lecherous grin, "I can assure you, I'm serious, I'm very serious."

Lady Jaye closed her eyes for a moment, finding her new part. God help her, she believed him. For whatever reason, he thought they had a bond; she would utilize that. She opened her eyes to find that he had drifted but a few paces away from where she stood. He maintained a steady gaze on her, more like through her. "Tell me what's going on."

Tomax moved in front of her, slightly aroused by her quickened breath. If he wanted to, he could lean forward and take her. It was a tempting thought but he had other things in mind. His face was an inch from hers, "You know I can't make this easy for you."

"You called me. I'm here." She paused, "Help me."

For a moment, Tomax was just a man standing before her, nursing a terrible secret. His eyes flashed an instant of pain and grief. He hurt, he hurt desperately. She had an overwhelming urge to reach out to him, take him in her arms, and just hold him tight. Her hand raised slightly out to him. He saw and whipped his head back, laughing heartily. His gaze was back on her and the moment was gone, hidden behind his calculating stare. "Oh my dear, I want to help but it can't be like this."

Tomax lunged at Lady Jaye, pinning her to the bookshelf, the wooden shelves digging into her back. She squirmed against his hold, but he was strong and held her wrists tight over her head, practically cutting off the circulation. She cursed the high-heeled boots throwing off her center of gravity. Yet one more thing she couldn't understand how people could wear for battle. Combat boots were just that, boots for combat. Why mess with a formula that worked? Tomax pressed his body into hers, bringing her to the here and now. His legs were blocking hers from moving, preventing her from gaining any leverage. Tracing the shadows of her neck, he let his nose lead the way, pausing for a moment as his lips threatened to brush against hers. Lady Jaye held her breath, eyes focused on a painting across the room of an empty prairie. Tomax followed the contours of her cheek with his mouth up to her ear where he whispered, "I'm sorry it has to be this way. I can't feel him. He might sense something's afoot and I wouldn't know." Tomax rested his cheek against hers. "I know Michelle Parke. What happened to her was no accident."

Lady Jaye gasped and Tomax responded, "It is as dark as you imagine. He must be stopped." Tomax cocked his head to the side, listening to something in the distance. He turned back to her. "You must fight me."

She shook her head, "I don't want to fight you."

He grasped her arms just under her shoulders and shook hard, "Fight me!"

"No! Come with me. We can help you."

Tomax shook his head once and then leaned in, kissing her hard. Defensive instincts kicked in. Lady Jaye dipped her head back and then slammed it forward straight into Tomax's nose. He released her with a sharp cry, reeling backward, stumbling before finding his balance. He touched his nose gingerly, looking at her, "Not the face, anything but the face."

She nodded, fixing her stance. Her heart was racing and she had no idea what to expect. Fight him? That would be stupid. Tomax stood up and extended his frame, rolling his neck around a few times before stopping. "This is more like it." He then rushed at her. She ducked around him, trying to side step away. Her heel caught in the carpet and Tomax grabbed her right arm, twisting it behind her back, pulling her into him. His head came over her shoulder. She struggled as her leaned in. "Mindbender did something to my brother on the orders of Cobra Commander. He messed with his head, broke our bond. He also discovered some of our secrets. We had contingency plans, hidden potential revenue streams, shell companies at the ready. The Commander seized upon those for his own use through my brother. He's using our structure to implement his latest plot. I don't know everything. Mindbender's developed some sort of biological weapon. The Commander's been testing it. That's what happened on the metro."

"Why would he target you?" Lady Jaye grunted and kicked her left leg back, making solid contact with his groin. Tomax yelped in pain, releasing her arm and falling to his knees while holding himself. He looked up at her, surprise evident on his face. Taking a few steps back, she hunched over, "You . . . said . . . anything but . . . your . . . face."

Tomax smiled in acknowledgment, "I suppose you're right." He rose to his feet, "Now come after me again."

"Come on, this is ridiculous."

"I told you, I've lost my brother. This is the only way to neutralize him so we can talk. Otherwise, I don't know what he'll know and what he may tell the Commander." Tomax, with some reluctance, launched himself at Lady Jaye once more, tackling her. Her head slammed against the ground and she saw stars.

Rubbing at the forming lump, "Owww. Do you have to make it so real?"

"He'll know if it isn't." Tomax climbed on top of Jaye; she pushed back against his chest, fearing he was going to try the amorous route once more. He returned to her original question, "The Commander doesn't trust us; he fears us. We have the potential for far more power and influence in our ventures without him. I suspect he knows we've considered it. Now he has his bargaining chip." Tomax allowed Lady Jaye to wiggle away from his grasp.

"Your brother?"

"No, Michelle." Tomax looked down. He hadn't planned on letting her in this much. His original intent was a simple fight and then flee. But Michelle, if he were to save Michelle, he would need to let Lady Jaye in. He had to make her as invested as he was. He would lay his soul bare and hope that Jaye truly was as much like him as he suspected. "I love Michelle."

Lady Jaye sat back on her heels. She didn't think it was possible for the twins to love anything but themselves and money. Could she trust that he was being truthful and not manipulating her for some ultimate goal? If Cobra Commander had his brother under control as he claimed, who knew what Tomax would do to free Xamot. "How can I believe you?"

Tomax raised his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug, "You just do." He pushed back to his feet and offered a hand to Lady Jaye. She narrowed her eyes before reaching up to accept it. Assisting her to her feet, he tightened his grip, pulling her toward him. "You just do." Releasing her hand and pushing her away from where he stood, he took a step back, his eyes circling the room. She would deflect his strikes but she would never inflict the damage necessary to hinder Xamot. He had to take matters into his own hands and kill two birds with one stone. Calling upon his gymnastic skills, he turned, executing a handspring. Intentionally missing his placement, he knocked into the cushioned chairs and propelled himself at a crazy angle into the side of his desk, crashing his shoulder against the hard wood. Even he could feel that. He landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him for a moment.

"Tomax!" Jaye darted to him. In the meantime, Tomax swung a fist into the desk, splintering the wood. Jaye crouched down beside him, trying to prevent him from doing it again, "Stop, you'll kill yourself."

But he wasn't thinking of her or him or even Xamot. He had one picture in his head. It was Michelle in the hospital. It was a vivid picture of the end, so easy to imagine. The doctor removed the tubes connected to her body, which was just a shell, the soul inside since departed. And it was all because he failed to protect her as he swore he would always do. It was because of his oath that they were apart. The weight of duty was heavy. He couldn't hold the load and he snapped, fighting against Lady Jaye. He lashed out with more force than he meant to in his rage, throwing her back against the desk. Her arms floundered in the air as she rocked on the heels of those blasted boots. Stumbling back, her body twisted and she caught her face on the corner of his desk. There was a dull thud as she hit the floor, rolling up onto her side, clutching her throbbing head.

"Oh!" Tomax snapped out of it. He crawled over to her, carefully turning her on her back. She held a hand over her left eye. "Shhhhh, let me see." He pulled her hand back, "Ouch." The desk had made firm contact, cutting into the delicate skin just below her eye. The surrounding tissue was swollen and red, dark bruises spreading underneath the surface. She was going to have one mighty fine black eye. Lacking in readily available first aid, Tomax pulled out his pocket square, dabbing at her wound, grimacing with her every flinch.

"I thought you said anything but the face?"

"I kind of meant me." Tomax inhaled sharply as he rotated his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt you, not like this."

"Ha. You could have fooled me."

His features darkened over, "No, truly I didn't." He brushed the hair away from her face, "Do you mind if I take this off? It's rather distracting."

She moved her head back and forth once.

Tomax eased the wig off, tossing it aside. He used his handkerchief to wipe away some of the excess makeup. The right side of his mouth raised slightly, this was better. Now he could talk. She wasn't some tarted-up stranger. She could almost be. No, never that. He ran his fingers through her natural hair, brushing it out. It was almost nice, doing this without him in his mind. For as long as he could remember, he was never alone. Every action, every experience was always shared. The emptiness of his mind was frightening in a way. He didn't know how to be with himself. There was a terrible echo.

"I met Michelle in law school. My brother and I decided to divide and conquer. I would obtain the legal education and he would obtain the business. What each learned, the other would too. It wasn't necessary that we both had a JD or MBA after our name. All we needed was one. She caught my eye the first day of classes. He knew. 'Brother, don't,' was all he said. I knew what he thought. He thought she was a mere dalliance that would hinder our progress. But then he knew. I couldn't hide from him. He wouldn't let me go.

"Michelle knew. She understood our bond. Never questioned. She was willing to give me the space I needed. I clung to her. More and more nights I didn't come home. Xamot grew desperate. He would do, things, when I was with her." Tomax stopped, painful memories reflected in his eyes. He continued to stroke Jaye's hair; it was calming. She didn't move to stop him, only wondering how long it had been since he had been allowed to connect with someone other than his brother.

"I was going to leave him. Not permanently, just for a time. I wanted to be with Michelle. I wanted to experience it on my own. He couldn't handle it and decided to sabotage my happiness. Pretending to be me, he showed up on her doorstep and she let him in. How could she know? He knew everything about me, he was me. I felt everything and it was wonderful." Tomax clenched his fists, looking away, "I wanted to die. It hurt in the most intimate way possible." He set his jaw and continued his story, "I went after him and hurt him in the way I knew how. The world would know that we were different." Tomax touched his right cheek, hesitating, still feeling the tingle. This was the hard part, when it turned ugly and raw. "He, he left his mark." Tomax wasn't seeing Lady Jaye anymore. His focus was turned inward, back to that time.

Xamot's betrayal rocked their brotherhood. Xamot had violated the cannons of their trust. It wasn't the first time, it wouldn't be the last. Yet this time wounded Tomax as no other had. The brothers had their moments where each would experience the intense urge to escape and rebel against what fate had wrought. Those feelings could bring the other twin to his knees. They would always come back to each other. They knew they were never as good as when they were one. Then it would happen again. To the brother left behind, it felt like being rejected by your whole world. It tore a gash in your mind. Each time they tried to separate, it shred a little of the woven ties that held them together. The damage could be mended, but it would always be just that, a repair. Added up over time, the repairs changed the essence of what they had started out as. Tomax knew he handled it better than Xamot. Xamot was more fragile. Maybe it came from the fact that Tomax, technically speaking, was the oldest. He possessed an overriding compulsion to protect his little brother. It could also be due to the fact that as the oldest, Tomax had known what it was like to be an individual for the eight minutes it took his mother to give birth to Xamot. Tomax always had those precious eight minutes. Xamot had never known life without Tomax. He didn't know how to live it. When Tomax left him, placing the knife on the ground next to Xamot's hand, it wasn't Xamot who shrieked and wailed through the night; it was Tomax.

Michelle forgave. She knew Tomax; she understood him. She was willing to suffer, to endure the unthinkable, to be with him. Tomax felt the ties holding him to Xamot loosen. The wayward threads drifted, seeking Michelle. He allowed a new chapter to be woven. Like a toddler taking those first tentative steps, he tested the waters, focusing on switching off that second voice in his head. He was making progress until the other shoe dropped. Michelle was pregnant. He despaired. He could never truly be free from Xamot. They would be tied up forever.

How Tomax laughed when he learned the news. Michelle had looked at him, barely able to hide the hurt on her face. How could he explain that he found no humor in the situation? How could he explain that halfway across town Xamot had his face buried in a pillow? The twins' wires had been crossed. It was a maddening experience. Tomax took to late night runs to clear the demons from his head. As much as he tried, he couldn't run far enough. Xamot was always there like a moth flitting around a flame.

The situation grew direr; it was twins. Michelle remained optimistic. She had heard of twins in her family, her cousins were fraternal twins after all. Twins were not an automatic life sentence. Sharing a womb did not necessarily mean they were doomed to a future like Tomax's. He tried to see things her way. It was impossible for him. If the babies came from Xamot, they could have no life other than the hell he lived day in and day out. For Xamot was always on the periphery of his thoughts, laughing. It was enough to drive a sane man crazy. At this point, Tomax wasn't a sane man. Every night he went to bed sobbing tears that weren't his own. He would wake in the middle of the night, looming over Michelle with a knife in his hand, cutting into the flesh of his arm. He felt no pain. If he stayed, he worried that he couldn't guarantee Michelle's safety. He did what he thought best; he left.

"I was a coward. I couldn't live with my brother; I couldn't live without him. Fate decided and found us wanting. My brother and I were enough of a monster for the world to handle. In her grief, Michelle miscarried." Tomax's head slumped down, "I failed her."

Lady Jaye watched as his eyes welled up, pools of salty tears gathered in the corners until one drop leaked out, rolling down his cheek, and falling onto hers. The wetness ran down the side of her face, disappearing. Its mark was left, a tiny river carved into the makeup caking her face. Tomax had her. He was right. She understood. She squeezed her eyes shut and instinctively reached out, pulling him toward her. He fit into her arms and she offered him the comfort he never had. For the first time in his life, Tomax wept tears that were his and his alone. Jaye cradled Tomax almost as if he were a child, gently stroking his hair. No words were spoken; they weren't needed. Tomax clung to her and allowed himself simply to be held. They stayed like that until Tomax pulled away, brushing away any traces of vulnerability. Shaking his head, he pulled himself together and leaned back against the desk. She pushed herself up, allowing Tomax to assist her when the world went spinning.

Sitting side-by-side against the desk, the silence enveloped them. Jaye moved her hand over and took Tomax's. With his other hand, he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a flash drive, handing it over to her. "The Commander targeted Michelle to keep me under wraps. I won't do anything to harm her. If I move, she's as good as dead. Whatever Mindbender did, he must have the ability to control it. To be honest, I just don't know." Tomax glanced around the room, a slight nervousness taking over his demeanor. "Despite what I've said, I love my brother. I will not hurt him and I will not betray him. I just want him back. It's been so, lonely. Given the circumstances, for my sake, I can't give you anything more."

Lady Jaye took the flash drive and placed it in her pocket. She likewise pulled out what looked like a hearing aid battery. She placed it in the hand she held. "This is a Trojan horse. I was supposed to leave it on your hard drive. If it comes to it, this is why I was here."

Tomax took her hand and raised it to his lips, placing a single kiss on her fingers. "I'm giving you the best trail I can. Follow the money."

Lady Jaye giggled, "What are you Deep Throat or something?"

Tomax chuckled in response, "Funny my dear. I could say that this is probably the one time in my life I could be so much more," he winked, a devious smile flashing across his face, replaced by the resignation of what was to come, "But time is not on my side."

"What now?"

"You have to trust me." He squeezed her hand, reaching up to use the desk to pull up from the floor. He helped Jaye, frowning when she swayed for a moment before leaning both hands on the desk. "Let me see that eye." She turned her face toward him. He didn't like the looks of it. While the bleeding had stopped, the skin around her eye was puffy and her eyelid almost swollen shut. "Hmm, this may not work."

"We don't have much of a choice."

"No, we don't." It was time. He reached over to the side of his desk, pressing a button hidden on its underside.

"What was that?" Her skin prickled as her senses prepared to be on high alert.

"That is the alarm that summons my Crimson Guard. They have a very fast response time. I believe they will be here in three, two, one." He jabbed his finger into the empty air and pulled it back as loud voices came from the hallway followed by pounding on his office door. "It helps to pay your men well."

Lady Jaye felt her jaw drop. "What did you do?" She began examining the room for an exit.

"Don't worry. My door is blast-proof. It will take them a few minutes to punch through. You should turn your communicator back on though and call for help. They need to be here in nine minutes." Tomax ignored the betrayed look on her face. "Flint is it? He'll be prompt."

Acting on autopilot, Lady Jaye followed his directive. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the tiny ear bud, inserted it while depressing the button that would turn it on. J.T.'s frantic voice blasted in her ear.

"Lady! You're back. What can I do you for?"

Her eyes on Tomax, "Small problem J.T. and change of plans. Can you be here in . . ." Tomax held up eight fingers, "Eight minutes?"

"I'll say that's a small problem." J.T. yelled up to Flint, "Get this doggie moving, we've got eight minutes!"

Flint clenched his teeth and swung the Tomahawk toward Extensive Enterprises. Thankfully Patterson had cleared through the FAA any number of flight paths they could have taken across the city. He'd be there in five.

"Tell them to meet you outside my office." Tomax walked around his desk and began fumbling through a drawer.

"But all your men are out there."

Tomax looked up at her, evidently pleased at what he found in his drawer. "No, outside my office." He waved over behind his back and pointed toward the window.

Lady Jaye gulped, she didn't think she was going to like this. "Uh J.T.?"

"Milady?"

"Second change of plans. No roof. I need you to meet me outside the 58th floor."

J.T. thumped the side of his headphones, "Can you repeat that again? I don't think I heard you."

Tomax wobbled his head back and forth in dismissive boredom, "Just tell him it will make sense when they arrive. Chop, chop, seven minutes."

"J.T. You heard me. Outside the 58th floor. It will make sense when you get here. Out." Lady Jaye then screamed as Tomax held up a gun. "Holy fu . . . ."

"Please don't swear, it's beneath you." Tomax turned away from her, aiming the handgun at the window, sending several shots, shattering the glass and blowing it out. He tossed the gun to her. She fumbled it between her hands a few times before getting a grip. "Now toss it back." Tomax held out his hand, waving her along.

She couldn't think of any reply and followed orders, tossing it across the desk. Tomax caught it in midair, settled his fingers around the trigger, aimed it off to the side across his chest and recoiled slightly as the bullet grazed his arm. He promptly dropped the weapon and stomped in a small circle, trying to shake out the pain. Face contorted, he blew out a few deep breaths through a pursed mouth. The idea seemed reasonable in his head. He just hadn't thought through to the consequences, injury. If he meant to make it look like the Joes had caught him unaware, he had to be thorough. Xamot would never buy that Lady Jaye was able to best him if he didn't mix in a little firepower. One on one, while she would put up a good fight, he was no doubt the odds on favorite. If she happened to find his gun, well that could explain away a lot. "Now I'm only going to say this once. I will not let you fall, I promise." He held out a hand to her, "Come."

Lady Jaye accepted that her fate rested in Tomax's hands. Usually that would be a horrific thought. She would never want her life dependent on the man. If it came to that, she had done something seriously wrong. Now it was almost comforting. He had placed his burden upon her and she would see it through for him. No longer was this just a mission to be completed. Her whole mindset up to this point had been only to prove something to Flint. Every move she made was calculated to prove she was indeed strong. But that was no way to do her job. Let Flint be robo-soldier; that wasn't her. She was flesh and blood and felt. Tomax had given her a gift in a way. He gave her back a little of herself. She only hoped she could do the same for him. Sure, she was letting the mission get personal. But if it wasn't personal, was it even worth doing? No.

She walked over to Tomax and he led them to the window. The wind was gusting into the room, buffeting their bodies. It was like a freight train in her ears. Tomax yelled directions but she couldn't understand. She shook her head and pointed to her ear mouthing "I can't hear you." Thankfully he was proficient at reading lips and pointed to the outside of the window. Her eyes, to the extent they could, grew large. She poked her head out, glanced down, and then back at him. She shook her head no. He smiled and nodded yes. She took one step back. On a good day heights weren't exactly her thing. With her left eye practically swollen shut and the ensuing vertigo it brought on, it was the epitome of a very bad day. Tomax held out his hand. The thumps against the door were growing louder and the door began to crack along its seams. The middle was bowing out toward them. Tomax held up two fingers. Great, in about two minutes his men would breach the door.

She took a tentative step toward him. While calm on the exterior, inside she was quaking in her boots. She could do this. She would do this. The door splintered open and she froze as a horde of Crimson Guardsmen stormed into the room. So much for Tomax's precise timing. Tomax reached forward, grabbing her under her shoulder as he fell back through the broken window. As she yelped in surprise, she clung to his words, "I won't let you fall." They were hard to believe as she felt herself free fall, the ground 58 stories below.


	10. Climbing Up Fire Escapes

**Chapter 10: Climbing Up Fire Escapes**

**11:45 a.m.**

**Extensive Enterprises, 200 Park Avenue, New York City**

They say when you are about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. People on the verge of death report whirling visions of time spanning from the moment of their birth to the pastrami and rye sandwich they devoured ten minutes before getting hit by that bus. The only thought Lady Jaye had at the moment when her body hovered in the air, half in and half out of Tomax's office, was of Lucky.

Toward the beginning of her army career, with some reluctance, Lady Jaye "volunteered" for the Basic Airborne Course at Ft. Benning. Her Black Hat instructor was a grizzled sergeant nicknamed Four Fingers Lucky. Jaye always thought it was an odd choice for a nickname. Surely his god-given moniker had to be a bit easier on the tongue than Four Fingers Lucky. It wasn't. Master Sergeant Belmerlee Leradell Hudspeth, III, was from an old military family. His dad served in Korea, his granddad in the Pacific fleets of World War II, and his great-granddad in the trenches of France. He had kin who wore the blue and some who wore the gray. And before that, they wore coats of red.

As for Four Fingers Lucky, he knew where he fit into his family lore. Since the time he could walk, there was one thing he was meant to do—fly. But not the kind of flying that usually comes to mind. Hudspeth didn't want to be hampered by a cylinder of steel; he wanted to be entirely free to touch the clouds as close to his maker as possible. He wanted to soar of his own accord. Hudspeth was a paratrooper.

Hudspeth had a canned talk that he gave at the beginning of ground week, as the first week of training is called. "Ladies," he would start, because to Hudspeth there was nothing political or correct about his choice of words, "Only an insane man would jump out of a perfectly good airplane. By the end of your three weeks here, you will all be one hundred percent, Grade A certified, loony, bat shit (Hudspeth did not believe in holding back), insane!" This little nugget of motivation was typically followed by boisterous cheers of "Yes Sergeant, Airborne!" and lots of fists pumping in the air. Jaye herself was not immune to Hudspeth's enthusiasm. She joined right in even though she harbored a dangerous secret. She was terrified of heights.

She couldn't point to where the fear first started. It seemed it was always with her. As a child, while her brother climbed to the top of the jungle gym, she would be content to hover around the mid-way mark, not quite on the ground, but definitely not in the air. She had no problems flying as long as she had the aisle seat. Even the window seat, when there was no choice, wasn't cause for strife as long as she stared straight ahead during landings and take-offs. She'd been to the top of the Sears Tower and hiked Mt. Kilimanjaro. It wasn't an all-encompassing, crippling fear, but that was only because she knew how to harness the beast.

Unfortunately, the 34 foot tower of ground week was a beast for which she was unprepared. During ground week, the students performed mock jumps out of the tower. Supposedly some smart guy somewhere posited that jumping out of 33 feet has the same effects on a person as it does from any other increased height. So the Army, in all of its infinite wisdom, threw on another foot and created the 34 foot tower. If you're too scared to jump from that, you'll be too scared to jump from anything higher. As she ran laps, she came to the realization that she was too scared to jump from the tower. Try as she would, she couldn't hide her trepidation. She wasn't that good of an actress, yet. Hudspeth could spot a person who didn't have a head for heights a mile away. The night before her first scheduled jump off the tower, he found her preparing to run more laps after leaving the chow hall. He stopped her and asked her to take a walk with him instead. "I don't mean to engage in any shenanigans," he said, "I just want to talk to you."

As they started to walk around the training area, Hudspeth raised the ghost of Lady Jaye's fear, "Do you know why they call me Four Fingers Lucky?"

"No Sergeant Airborne."

"Please, it's just us, you call me Lucky."

"Ok," her training was good; it had beaten out of her any ability to call superiors by anything other than what the Army dictated. "Uh, sarge, I mean, Lucky." That elicited a chuckle from the man.

"They call me Lucky because I am one lucky bastard." With that, Lucky pulled the glove off his left hand revealing that he only had four fingers. The fifth, his pinky, was noticeably absent. Lady Jaye tried to mask her surprise at his unexpected revelation. Lucky laughed again and slid the glove back on. "We were in a C-141 barreling toward our DZ. We'd checked and double-checked the chutes. We were ready. That hunk of junk was not. Something happened to engine number three. It chucked itself, but not before trying to take engine number four with it. Number four failed and the smoke grew mighty thick. The pilot couldn't see and put the plane in a steep bank. We were tossed around like a bunch of dice back there. I'll admit; I was scared and I let it get the best of me. My brain took over, ignoring my training. I ignored orders and froze. Debris flew into the cargo compartment, setting one of the pallets on fire. It exploded. I had my hand on the door, paused, when a big 'ol shard of metal came straight for my head. Put up my hand and it got my finger instead." Lucky wiggled his hand for effect. "That'll wake you up. I jumped. When I landed, I could count on four fingers why I was still lucky to be alive."

They had reached the 34 foot tower by this point. "I like you Burnett, I think you're a good kid and you'll do fine in this man's Army. I know you want to stay a number and not a name. Names aren't all that bad." Lucky pointed up to the top of the tower, "Don't wash out kid. That thing has nothing on you. I don't know what you're running from 'cause you're not trying to prove anything. That's ok. Just keep it out of your head. When the time comes, let your training do what it's supposed to do. I see you rehearsing your PLFs, your brain going a mile a minute. Don't. Just do." He poked her in the head. "If you're jumping from an aircraft with 100 pounds of gear strapped to your body from 1,000 feet, you don't have much time to think about what to do if something goes wrong. Your chute opens up after a 4,000 count, well you hope it does, and you've already lost about 400 feet. If you have to think about pulling your reserve, you've taken too long. It's a quick way to become one with the earth." Lucky shrugged, "That's all I wanted to say." He turned back toward the barracks. Lady Jaye resumed her run, letting her mind wander free of the tower for the first time since she had arrived. Three weeks later she was awarded her wings. Still scared, but that was all in her head.

In the present, as her feet cleared the window of Extensive Enterprises and gravity pulled her body down, she let go to her conditioning. Relaxing her muscles, she leaned into Tomax and allowed him to pull her closer, much as she would have done if falling without a chute. He led with his head, spinning his feet and twisting them back toward the building. It must have been something he learned in gymnastics. It felt like tangoing in the sky. She hadn't noticed it when she'd first glanced out the building, but attached like a hammock underneath was a net spanning the width of Tomax's office. Tomax, his arm clapped around her shoulder much like a harness, reached out, entwining his hand in the netting. Their bodies abruptly completed their circle trajectory, smashing into the metal below. Tomax's grip loosened and she slid down a few inches, thrashing out a hand to grab the net. Glass shards from the window caught in the net glistened in the sun. They also dug into her hand. It was but another check to add to her growing tally of physical injuries on this mission. Two Crimson Guards appeared at the window, rifles aimed.

"Let go! Climb onto me!" Tomax yelled down to her.

"You're crazy!" No way, no how was she letting go.

Tomax shook his arm, trying to dislodge her. "You're too open to a shot."

He was right. No sooner than he said the word "shot," a real one followed, pinging off the support girder a few inches above Lady Jaye's white-knuckled hand. "Shit!" She gathered as much of Tomax as she could with her one hand and let go of the netting with the other. She swung like a pendulum as she attempted to wrap her legs around Tomax. Freed of his burden of supporting her, Tomax reached up with his other hand, grabbing more net. He waited to start pulling himself up until she had fully wrapped herself around him, thinking to herself that she must look a lot like Stephanie Seymour in the "Don't Cry" video, trying to pull Tomax down to the watery depths. At least she wanted to look like Stephanie Seymour.

More shots rang out followed by cries of "Stop, you'll hit him!" Glancing up, Lady Jaye was offered a glimpse of the two Crimson Guardsmen leaning out over the window, trying to figure out how to pick her off while leaving their leader unharmed.

_Come on Flint, come on!_ She could sense Tomax's arms were starting to weaken. Not that she wasn't in awe of his physical conditioning. He reminded her of the paratroopers she'd come across. Those guys were in impeccable shape. It kept them alive. Now Tomax's physique was the one thing separating them from ending up as flattened pancakes on the pavement below. The wind was picking up; she could feel Tomax start to shudder, tremors working through the strained muscles of his locked arms. He relaxed his grip and she cried out as they dipped down for a moment. "Getting . . . better, grip," fell out between his clenched teeth.

A gust blew them against the building and Tomax exclaimed a few choice words, unable to kick his legs for leverage because Lady Jaye had him wrapped up in a death grip. The wind gusted again, and she heard what she thought was the sound it made whipping around the high rises. It was a distinct low "thump, thump, thump," the bass reverberating in her chest cavity. The noise grew louder and more ear-splitting; that wasn't the wind.

"Lady!" J.T.'s voice flooded her ears, "We're here to rescue you."

"Oh thank god." Around the bend, the Joe's Tomahawk materialized, Flint at the helm, face set in grim determination. He did not look pleased at all. J.T. leaned out of the side, gun at the ready. She looked up; the Crimson Guards shrank back from the window. At least they wouldn't be taking pot shots at them. All she had to figure out was how to get her body into the Tomahawk. Flint was as close to her as he could get. Any closer and the rotor blades would slice through Extensive Enterprises. Hopefully this was another event already on Tomax's radar.

"Ever been to a circus?" Tomax gritted his teeth.

"Yes."

"Good, you're going to be the girl on the flying trapeze."

"Oh no." Lady Jaye's hands felt clammy with anticipation.

"Yes." Tomax sighed, "Tell Flint to angle to the left. Have the goon harness up, get on the skid, and prepare to catch."

She had done a good job up until that point relying on training and instinct. That training included the maxim, never look down. Temptation overwhelmed her and she did, instantly regretting the decision. 58 stories was a really long way to fall. She had visions of falling and taking out half the people gathered on the side-walk below with necks craned up high to witness the show unfolding above. Lady Jaye closed her eyes, burying her face into Tomax's back.

"God woman, we don't have much time. Tell them!" Perhaps sensing all was not right with his passenger, Tomax softened his tone, "I can't hold us much longer. I'll go before you."

Tomax's assurance of self-sacrifice was the kick in the rear Lady Jaye needed. He'd done enough; it was her turn. She relayed Tomax's instructions to J.T., leaving out the goon part. No sense in offending the man who was about to catch and save her from certain death.

"On the count of three." Tomax took three deeps breaths while pumping his arms. When he shouted "three" he pressed his body against the building, reaching up and unhooking part of the net. As it detached from the building, he tensed up his abdominal muscles and flipped his legs out behind him, swinging Lady Jaye toward the helicopter. As the net separated from the building, it propelled them in a straight line further out over the street. Reaching the apex of their arc, Tomax screamed, "Go!" Without question, she released her grip on Tomax, maintaining the line of her body lest she end up grated by the blades. Every moment counted. As an old jumpmaster motto held, "The sky, even more than the sea, is unforgiving of the slightest mistake." She would make no mistake.

"Got ya!" She felt J.T.'s firm grip on her ankles, inching up her legs lest momentum carry her and smash her into the helicopter's underside. She became keenly aware of every passing second as J.T. hauled her inside. She was suspended in the air, arms raised in front of her. She felt like superman. And then she screamed. Tomax let go of the net moments before he would have plowed into the rotor. His body floated, carried by his movement. She pulled against J.T., trying to push herself far enough out to grab hold of some part of him. J.T. got a hold of a belt loop in the back, fighting against her for control of her body. He was a better judge of distance and knew she was too far away. He turned his head.

Not Lady Jaye. She observed in wide-eyed horror as Tomax tucked his body into a ball, tumbling head over heels. He passed the 57th floor, than the 56th. She couldn't look away. She wanted to. She felt she owed him something. Maybe he'd rather she didn't watch. She started to shut her eyes when a flash of red and black popped them open. Flying down to save his brother was Xamot. Harnessed to the building, he overtook Tomax, wrapping his arms around the man's torso. In Tomax's window, two Crimson Guardsmen, Lady Jaye had no idea if they were the ones shooting at her moments before, reeled the two brothers up back into safety. J.T. finished pulling Lady Jaye into the Tomahawk and Flint cut a sharp right to the canyons of Wall Street.

She collapsed onto the floor, sucking wind back into her stricken lungs. J.T. respectfully gave her space, refraining from asking her about her eye. She patted the small pocket in her jumpsuit and breathed a sigh of relief. It was still there, Tomax's gift to her. She had feared it didn't survive her mad dash escape. Her hand stung, her eye throbbed, her legs ached; she was alive. That was all she needed right now. Let the rest come when it may.

As the Tomahawk thundered away, the two brothers leaned against the slice of wall underneath the broken window in Tomax's office.

"You gave me quite the scare, brother."

"I knew you would come."

"Always brother, always." Xamot paused, "That was unusual, dear brother."

The guardsmen in the room snapped to action, rifles all pointing at the door as the figure of Agent Miller crossed the threshold, his gun raised at the ready. "Freeze, FBI!" Behind him a cadre of agents filed into the room.

Tomax waved his Crimson Guard to stand down and turned toward the visitors. "Agent Miller?"

"Yes?" Miller's eyes darted around the room, preparing for an ambush.

"Please put your gun away. It won't be necessary. Call Patterson and tell him I'm putting out the press release about the movie."

"I'm sorry?"

Tomax let out an exasperated huff, "Really, it's no wonder our government can do anything; you people can't take simple direction." He motioned to Xamot, who reached into his suit jacket, causing every FBI agent to point their guns, fingers itchy. Xamot held both hands out, one holding a cell phone. Tomax took the phone, dialed a number, "Patterson. My publicist will place the release about the movie shoot with thanks to the FBI for its cooperation." Tomax handed the phone back to Xamot. "Done."

A/N: I took a few fictional liberties with describing Airborne training and Lucky. I have the utmost respect and incredible admiration for our Airborne troops. They are truly amazing.


	11. Insatiable, Pt 2

**Chapter 11: Insatiable, Pt. 2**

**11:45 a.m.**

**LaGuardia Airport, Hanger B, Queens**

The rattle of the cabin as Flint eased the Tomahawk down on the tarmac brought Lady Jaye back to the here and now. Up until touchdown, she'd manage to zone out, collapsed on the floor with an arm draped across her eyes blocking out the painful barbs of light. Sure she wasn't exactly following safe air protocol by failing to strap in but if J.T. wasn't saying anything, she was perfectly happy to stay where she was. Now reality surrounded her and she expected she'd have to account for the past few hours.

Opening her eyes, she knew that time had begun. There was J.T. starring down at her, a curious expression of bewilderment, concern, and yes, on the edges, anger, crowding his features. He'd never make a great undercover agent with that poker face. She closed her eyes again, feeling guilty as charged. Damn, she liked J.T. She didn't mean to put him in a bad spot. She was just doing her job. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out Tomax's flash drive. "Get this to Mainframe STAT." She peered through her right eye almost daring J.T. to do otherwise.

J.T. pocketed the drive, pausing. His mouth opened and shut a few times, struggling between duty and his desire for an answer. When she cut off contact, it threw him for a loop. Patterson specifically tasked him with looking out for her welfare. While he imagined that Patterson's detailed instructions had something to do with the independent personality of the subject sprawled out on the floor, he also had his suspicions that it might involve some of the personality of the man piloting the bird. If something had happened and he was unable to stop it, he'd never forgive himself even if Lady Jaye had taken matters into her own hands. That was just the nature of the work. This whole deal was a good reminder why he was glad he wasn't field anymore. He preferred trying to prevent all of this in the first place through good training in the classroom. After this was over, he knew one Joe who would be first in line for his next class. Thinking of nothing to say, J.T. shook his head once and turned to exit. Still, his momma didn't raise him to leave a lady in distress. Glancing around, he grabbed the medic kit, tossing it at Jaye's feet.

Lady Jaye let out the breath she had been holding in case of confrontation. Thankfully J.T. didn't push it. With that episode over, she took the opportunity to run down the ever-growing list of her ailments. While she didn't want to die on the spot, that would be a bit too dramatic even for her, she thought a nice long nap with a solid dose of painkillers would do the trick. Recalling the worried face of J.T., she knew that wouldn't be an option until they sorted this mess out once and for all. No, it was onward and upward until they could save Ms. Parke. And she hoped that would give Tomax a little peace.

With a grunt, she asserted her authority over whimpering muscles and pushed up to a sitting position. The earth eventually settled down, time for business. Prodding a tender abdomen, she flinched at the feeling of sharp nails digging into her sides. No sign of cracked ribs though, just bruises; those, while annoying, wouldn't jeopardize her ability to complete the mission. Reaching into the kit, she cracked a few of the cold packs and secured them around her stomach with medical tape. As the chill seeped through her jumpsuit, she released a mental sigh. Next, the most immediate need was her eye. With another pop, she placed the medic kit's remaining cold pack against her face. The throbbing receded to a dull ache as the coldness numbed her skin. If only it could seep into her brain. Try as hard as she could, she couldn't get Tomax out of her head. If it was a con job, it was the best con job she'd ever seen. It had to be real. It was the most logical explanation. But if that was the case, how on earth could she to get the others to agree? Maybe the FBI, they'd never dealt with the twins before. The Joes? That was going to be a monumental task. The thinking was only making the pain worse. She rotated her head around trying to clear her thoughts.

It was no use; her mind was sprinting in all different directions, pulling and pushing. She needed to settle down and tried to remember the post-battle mediation Snake Eyes and Scarlett taught the new recruits. There was some vowel sound that was supposed to transport you out of the state of pain to a state of detached awareness. Racking her brain, she came up with a lot of nothing. The only vowel she could think of was the "O" from the Star Spangled Banner, and clearly that wasn't going to get her to experience nirvana. If anything, it only reminded her of the last Red Sox-Yankees series she attended. And if anyone knew the depths to which her fandom sank, a reminder of the Sox's dismal season wasn't one to transport her away to the land of Calgon. There was one thing. She cocked her head at an angle, taking in Flint's voice. Listening to Flint go through his post-flight check was kind of therapeutic in a way. He was methodical and his voice, verbally ticking off squares, relaxed her frayed nerves. He could do that. One time when they were hunkered down under a rock, waiting out a flash thunderstorm, she felt like she would crawl out of her skin. They had been trailing a lead for days, getting nowhere. She was tired and hungry. Maybe slightly grumpy, ok, make that pretty grumpy. Flint, sensing as much, began to recite some of his favorite poems. It wasn't the words as much as it was the way he said them. It calmed and centered her. Even now, listening to him recite fuel mixtures was calming.

She placed the cold pack on the ground, turning attention to her battered hand. Besides being in desperate need of a manicure, several glass shards were embedded in her palm. While it would be easier to have someone else pick them out, she still felt skittish. She hadn't the benefit of a mirror but she'd been through enough at this point to know how bad she looked to the outside world. It was more though. All things considered, the team had seen her in much worse condition. She still could manage to hold her head high. What really bothered her was the fact she had froze out there. She did the one thing Lucky drilled in her to never do and it almost cost her. Even taking herself out of the equation, she jeopardized the life of someone else. It didn't matter if he was the enemy. He wasn't then. She let her fear defeat her training. She couldn't hold her head up for that.

"AHHH!" A piece of jagged glass was lodged pretty deep and at an angle. It took an extra bit of muscle to dislodge. Blood immediately welled up out of the long gash just below her fingers. She grabbed a bandage to staunch the flow, holding her hand up above her head. The glass shard had pierced her lifeline, slicing about halfway through it. She wondered what that foretold for the rest of her life. Was she now on borrowed time? Maybe it was a sign; a sign that her life wasn't meant for this. Maybe Flint was right. Heck, maybe Tomax was right. She should be sitting in an office helping to run the family business, not running around playing cops and robbers. Well cops and robbers with better equipment.

"I asked you a question."

Flint's voice snapped her out of her trance, "What?" She tilted her head up toward his voice. Flint was standing with his hands balled into fists at his hip, legs apart, a scowl across his face. "What's up?"

"Are you going to answer me?"

"Answer what?" Now she was confused.

"My question. It's simple so I'll ask again, what happened out there?" She could tell he was doing his best to control his anger. His nostrils were flaring ever so slightly and his body remained ramrod straight.

Confuse gave way to clarity. She knew what he was really asking. He wasn't asking why she ended up hanging outside a window 58 stories up. Those kinds of things were a given. He was asking why she went rogue in the first place. "Because you know as well as I that Tomax wouldn't have talked to me. It was the only way to get his trust."

"Oh I'm sure you got his trust alright."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well if it was anything like Kansas City."

"What do you mean if . . ." Then it hit her, a sucker punch to the gut. She stumbled past her state of pain, through Snake Eye's state of mellow detachment, straight into a state of shock. If she ever wondered what was going on in Flint's head, here it was. He didn't think she went rogue to reassure Tomax. He thought she cut contact to _really_ reassure Tomax. That bit hard. She was mad. She was furious. If that was how he was going to play it, fine, she could match it and then some. She let the fury rise. She would take him down.

But all she had was silence. The rage was only superficial, an emotion masking the pain below. Words that would otherwise flow so easily suddenly dried up. She could match wits with him any day. Not now. Whatever she wanted to say back, she couldn't. He found her weak spot and good. Part of her wanted to throw up. Part of her wanted to run. She'd give him the pleasure of neither. She cursed herself for the umpteenth time for allowing herself to get that vulnerable in front of him. Damn it. When she brought up the Russian it was only to confess that while she might have gotten cozy with him, she didn't do _that_; she would never do _that_. He of all people should know that, instinctively.

Turns out she was wrong. It wasn't as if she was naïve. She knew how the world worked. She merely chose to ignore the gossip around base about the nature of some of her assignments. When your standard operating gear included combat boots and stiletto heels, talk was bound to follow. She could shrug it off but there was always Flint. Correction, lately there was Flint. She didn't know what he heard and what he chose to ignore. It wasn't a topic either broached. She had the sense the rumors were beneath him, that it was just low frequency chatter that never reached his ears. And if the time came that it had to reach him, she wanted it to be from her. She would be adult and let him make up his own mind. Yet, she was only well aware that her time was running out. She had to tell him before things heated up. That was why it was so important to tell him in Kansas City. Yes, lying on a hotel bed, lips about to meet, was cutting it close. Still.

Now?

Apparently his decision was already made. She became self-conscious and realized that she was still holding her hand above her head. She dropped her arm down to her side, the bandage sliding off her hand, drifting to the floor. She ignored it. All she could do was stare ahead into space. She had to remind herself to breathe.

If she ever questioned the extent of her feelings for Flint, she was deluding herself. Just partners? No. She wasn't fooling anyone. He was more than a partner to her. She cared about him, deeply. Was it love? She kind of hoped so. Regardless, whatever it was, it was something. And now, it was in vain. How could there be anything between them when he would think that? After all they had been through; this was his impression of her. She longed for a great big hole to open up and swallow her up. Closing her eyes, she just wished he would leave her alone.

Flint's eyes focused on the bandage as it drifted away from her hand and settled to the floor. He was shocked at the bright red marring its surface. It didn't register at first that it was from her until blood began to drip down her hand and onto the cloth, the circles of red expanding and saturating the cloth like ripples breaking the surface of a pond. She was hurt. He never imagined her hurt before. In his mind's eye, she was practically invincible. Until that night. On that one night she let him in and he spent so much time since trying to get back. When he returned to base after visiting his family, he didn't even unpack before he rushed off to find her. She had been so cold. He thought his face was an open book. Yet Jaye closed herself off from him. No matter what he tried, she remained unreachable. He wanted her to know Kansas City was real. It happened. She mattered. It was frustrating.

When she pulled her little stunt at Extensive Enterprises, it infuriated him all the more because she was doing it again, cutting him out. He got mad. To use the vernacular, he was pissed. She was jeopardizing herself and the mission. Piloting a rather large military helicopter around the skyscrapers of New York is no easy feat. He wasn't even thinking about all the wrong turns he could have made. He was stewing in his anger. She could have been hurt, she could have been killed. He was mad, furious even.

But she _was_ hurt. From the looks of it, bad. The blood dripping down her hand was becoming more of a steady trickle. Her usual pink glow was absent, in its place a grayish pallor. He spent all this time trying to get her to see him when he didn't take the time to see her, only allowing a static image in his head. He felt like a heel. A rightful eejit, as his old roommate would say. He let his own hurt get in the way. How could he explain to her that he knew she wasn't going to get down and dirty with Tomax? It's just that he could envision a million reasons why Tomax would want to get down with her. He couldn't blame the man. Many nights Flint woke up in a cold sweat, slightly embarrassed by the graphic nature of his nocturnal sojourns. She was walking sex in that outfit. Every FBI Geek needed a cup under his chin to catch the drool. But she didn't see it. She was always so maddening. Life was maddening ever since she entered his. The tug between duty and desire was exhausting. Still, it wasn't an excuse. He was an ass, plain and simple.

"Jaye, I'm sorry. I . . ." This was harder than he thought, admitting he was wrong. He needed to be useful, "Here, give me that." He kneeled down, grabbing her hand even as she tried to pull away, fumbling around in the kit for a clean bandage.

"Flint, just go."

"No."

She angled her head toward him, "I can't deal with this right now."

Flint gasped, "Your face? What happened?"

He reached out to her even as she shrunk away from his touch and cowered under his gaze. She felt exposed and this vulnerability was something she didn't like. She couldn't be vulnerable to him, especially not now. "Please." She bit at her bottom lip, fighting against the hand he had placed on her cheek.

"No, look at me." His words were forceful and she returned his stare. "God you're beautiful."

"Don't make fun. I can't handle it." The thin grasp she had on her self-control was slipping. At least she could blame her watery eye on the injury. That excuse would only hold for so long.

"Hon, I would never make fun of you. Not like that."

She snapped, pulling her face away from his outstretched hand, "No, you do not get to call me hon." She swatted his hand away, "No," she pointed a finger at him, "you lost that right. You," her mouth pursed as she fought against her emotions, her hand opening up to block him from coming any closer, "You lost that right." Her eyes blazed a hole through his soul.

He hesitated and that was his mistake for it gave her just enough time to regroup. Her mind and body were frazzled, pushed over the edge. She would be damned though if she'd give him the pleasure of seeing it. She took a sharp intake of air, "You need to leave now."

"Jaye . . . Alison, I'm a fool. I never wanted to hurt you. I trust you; it's all of them out there. I know what they would do." He reached out to her, to touch her face. She shrank back making him feel like a monster. "I tried to tell you in Kansas City. I didn't want to hear what you did because I'd want to kill Stratsky. It's never because of what you did. Never. Alison, hurting you is hurting myself. I don't know how it happened but you're a part of me now."

She shook her head, boxing him out. "Flint, you can't talk your way out of this. You need to go," she had her back to him, "now."

"Alison, I . . ."

A cough from behind Flint jarred him out of his groove. Turning around, there was Shipwreck, climbing aboard. "Well, sorry kids, didn't mean to interrupt anything."

With one well-placed fist, Flint figured he could easily take the sailor out and get back to the business at hand. His hand balled up tight.

Lady Jaye glanced up at Shipwreck, "Ship, you didn't interrupt anything. Flint was just helping me with my eye," she pointed at it, "It's a bit of a mess."

Shipwreck squinted, his eyes adjusting to the dim, "Man, slap me with a barnacle! You got knocked!"

Lady Jaye laughed, "You should see the other guy."

"Well, take care of that." While concerned with her appearance, Shipwreck shamefully admitted to himself that he was more concerned that there actually wasn't anything going on. The clock on his wager for the Jaye/Flint pool was ticking. He only had so much time with the two to influence their actions. If letting them spend some time alone in the helicopter away from prying eyes wasn't the trick, he didn't know what was. He'd have to step up his game. "Um, when you guys are finished up, we're meeting in conference room A. It's to the right when you enter the hanger. FBI has a sweet set-up. Mainframe and the geeks made some progress and want to brief us."

Flint scowled, "We'll be there as soon as we can."

Lady Jaye stepped in, "Thanks Ship. Flint will be right behind you."

"Roger that." Shipwreck hopped off the Tomahawk, whistling.

Flint looked at her, eyebrows raised. Did he dare hope?

Her back was to him again and she was busy bandaging up her hand. "You heard me."

Flint stood up, at war with himself. He'd seen her this way before, although never directed at him. Space, time and space were all he had on his side right now. He prayed it would be enough. "I stashed a duffel bag with some clothes in compartment B-6. I knew you'd want to change."

She waited until the echo of the thump of his boots on the asphalt died away before reaching over to open compartment B-6. Inside was his travel duffle. She unzipped the bag and started to cry. He had packed her deodorant and toiletries case. That wasn't the source of her tears. No, underneath the necessities were her favorite jeans, comfy sneakers, and the gray sweater.

**12:30 p.m.**

**Extensive Enterprises, 200 Park Avenue, New York City**

Tomax watched Xamot pace in a straight line up and down the center of his office. Xamot's face was serene as Tomax battled the demons inside. At least some order was returned to his surroundings. The maintenance crew had done an exemplary job installing new glass panes and the remains of the old window were carted away. His furniture was moved back into place, a new desk replacing the old. It was exactly the same, down to the subtle variations in the finish that had made the old desk so appealing to him. As swiftly as they had come, the maids and crew vanished, leaving only Tomax and Xamot to sort out their thoughts.

"My dear brother, this was quite an interesting morning." Xamot settled himself in the chair facing Tomax, holding an ice pack against his right shoulder. The fioricet Xamot took a half hour ago was finally kicking in. The general ache in his biceps was receding, replaced by a wonderful numbness.

Tomax groaned. He should be the one suffering, not Xamot. Still, he reclined on the couch, an ice pack across his forehead, for appearance sakes.

"What did you hope to gain with your little stunt?"

Tomax's radar went off, "Brother, whatever do you mean?"

Xamot laughed, "You mean to tell me that sexy little Joe waltzed in here under cover and took you unawares? Please, we've had our differences lately but even I can see through that. Your desire, while somewhat uncomfortable, was quite unexpected."

"Oh I assure you dear brother, it was a most enlivening meeting."

"I'm just glad I was alone."

Tomax removed the ice pack to look over at a contented Xamot, "Well next time brother, I'll try to make sure you have advance notice and time to reserve a private room."

Xamot laughed, "Ms. Pierson's office was adequate enough."

Tomax bowed once in his brother's direction, "And was Ms. Pierson enough?"

"Ms. Pierson . . ." Xamot began, "is always enough." The brothers finished the sentence in unison, giggling like junior high girls at the mall.

Xamot leaned back in the chair, Tomax, though it was a weak signal, could sense something was afoot. "But brother, I must ask, do you truly believe that Mindbender took me against my will?"

Tomax wasn't prepared for that; there was nothing in Xamot's head that he could feel. On the other hand, he knew all too well that Xamot could feel his own conflict. He struggled to respond.

Xamot continued, "Brother, you of all people should know that things do not happen to us; we make things happen."

"What did you make happen?" Tomax sat up. He did not like the turn the conversation had taken.

Xamot met his stare straight on. He didn't have to say a word, Tomax knew. Tomax knew exactly what Xamot did. "Oh brother!" He reached his hand out to Xamot, spanning more than just the physical distance that separated them.

Xamot reached over grabbing his hand in a fierce grip, "I couldn't survive any longer. I couldn't live with her ghost. Every dream, every nightmare, she haunts me. You live and I merely endure. All your regrets are foisted upon my head. For the first time, I'm free." Xamot tore his hand away, leaving Tomax's drifting alone in the air between them. Xamot pushed himself up from the couch, sore legs revolting against his actions. He teetered, holding out his arms to catch his balance. He straightened his suit, addressing Tomax again, "You can be free too. We can be as we were before, before any of it. Call him brother. End this war."

Xamot crossed over and stood before Tomax, longing evident on his features. He reached down, caressing Tomax's cheek with the tenderness of a mother before leaning down and grabbing Tomax's face between his hands. Xamot pulled it up to meet his, placing a kiss upon Tomax's lips. "Come to me brother." Xamot released his hold. "No matter what happens . . ."

Tomax completed his thought, "I love you. Always"

Xamot left Tomax alone, in agony with Xamot's thoughts. Tomax ran his hands up and down his face, fingers digging into his eye sockets, stifling Xamot's scream.


	12. Waiting for Something

A/N: just a short chapter to keep momentum. It was part of a larger chapter but seemed it would be too long. Thanks for reading and for the reviews!

**Chapter 12: Waiting for Something**

**12:10 p.m.**

**LaGuardia Airport, Hanger B, Queens**

He was waiting for her just outside the conference room. Leaning back against the wall ever so nonchalantly, she sensed the purpose in his stance.

"J.T.?" Lady Jaye paused before the closed door, hitching her thumb toward it, the sum of her question evident in her actions.

J.T. acknowledged her with a slight nod before holding out a pair of oversized Ray-Ban aviators with dark tint lenses. "I asked around and one of the fellows in the tower had a spare. Thought you might need them."

She took the proffered glasses and placed them on her face. Sure enough, they did the trick, hiding the majority of her swollen eye. Blinking a few times, her eyes quickly adjusted to the shade. It was welcome relief. "Um, thanks. I appreciate it."

An uncomfortable silence followed. She knew he still had questions and she felt like she owed him an explanation. "Listen, back there. Um, about that, I, well, I thought it was the only way. . ."

J.T. interrupted her, "I understand that lady. I may look like I'm wet behind the ears but I played these war games once upon a time. Y'all have your thing you do but for whatever reason I have to watch your hide on this one. Just help me out?"

Lady Jaye felt the tension leave her body. This was something she could do and nodded in agreement.

"Well, that's settled then, partners?" J.T. held out his hand, which Jaye readily accepted.

"Partners." The glasses started to slide down her face and she pushed them up with her free hand.

J.T. chuckled, "I reckon those things are mighty big but I asked for Texas-sized ones to cover that shiner." He opened the door for her, "Man, I can't wait to hear this one."

**12:15 p.m.**

**George Washington University Hospital, Intensive Care Unit**

The afternoon air had the sharp crispness of the approaching fall. It was the undertones of coolness to the air that, despite the sunny day and relatively mild temperature, foretold the end of summer and the coming cold. It was different than spring. A cool spring day had a newness to it. As Sarah leaned her forehead against the window of Michelle's hospital room, she felt the bitter winter to come.

Glancing behind, she felt some relief that Michelle had finally settled down. This morning, Michelle's temperature spiked and she had floated on the edge of consciousness, tossing and turning, mumbling words no one could understand. Sarah tried to reassure her through the haze but knew that Michelle was far too lost for her words of comfort to reach her. Sarah had given up on prayers; she wasn't even sure she wanted them answered anymore. Would it be better for Michelle if she slipped silently away? Sarah shuddered at the morbid thought. Here her sister was struggling for a breath and she was thinking about what she would wear to the funeral.

Sarah walked the few feet and plopped down in the chair at the foot of Michelle's bed. The heart specialist had pulled her out for a family conference not too long ago, informing Sarah, with some hesitance, that there would be a point in time at which the constant cardiac seizures would take their toll on Michelle's body, depriving it of necessary oxygen. After that, the doctor wouldn't say. The doctor didn't have to.

Sarah felt like she was in a stasis, waiting for something. She sighed, stretching her arms overhead in an effort to keep awake. She tilted her head to the right, working on sore muscles. Try as she might, she had to acknowledge that her prayers had turned dark. Say Michelle did pull through, what kind of life would she have? Sarah couldn't ignore the resigned look of the nurses when they came in to check Michelle's vitals. They gave off the impression of going through the motions purely for appearance's sake. They were making an effort for Sarah, not Michelle.

Then there was Tom. What kind of box did she open by dragging him back into the picture? She hadn't lied when she told Tom that it killed Michelle when he left. It nearly did. After Tom slinked out of Michelle's life, Michelle spiraled downward into a dark place Sarah couldn't reach. Sarah was the one on the phone with Michelle until 2 am, reassuring her that life would go on, ignoring the sobs coming from the other end. Sarah was the one who had placed the discrete notice in the paper regarding the terminated nuptials. Sarah was the one with Michelle in the hospital, fighting for her life after the miscarriage caused her to hemorrhage. Where was Tom then? Michelle said not to blame him, that there were things Sarah would never understand, couldn't possibly know. Michelle said Tom's brother needed him more, that there was something very wrong with the brother. Funny, despite the approaching union of the two families, neither Michelle nor Tom had seen fit to introduce his supposed brother, his only living relative. Sarah called BS on the brother. She called BS on the whole thing. She hated Tom. She blamed him every day, literally ruing the day he was born. But Tom was back and fate rested on his shoulders. Sarah let out a half-hearted snort, to think, after all this time, she would be beholden to Tom.

That was when Michelle started to flat line.


	13. Out of the Wilderness

**Chapter 13: Out of the Wilderness**

**12:17 p.m.**

**LaGuardia Airport, Hanger B, Queens**

The assorted FBI agents and Joes sat around the table slightly bewildered, each trying to figure out how to process the information presented to them by Lady Jaye. Agent Miller pulled at his collar a few times, the perspiration from his neck causing it to stick in a most uncomfortable way. Perhaps it was just him but the room was getting rather warm. Although it was a balmy 60 degrees outside, he was certain the conference room was pushing 80 with all the bodies crammed inside. Then again, perhaps it was the crazy scenario playing in a loop in his mind. Lady Jaye was a detailed and astute agent, if her seemingly detached recitation of the past few hours was any indication. Try as he might, he couldn't quite shake the image out of his head of her and that twin (as an aside, he was still troubled by his run in with the twins, plural that is) intertwined, for a lack of a better word.

"So let me get this straight, he said he had to fight _you_ because he couldn't _feel_ Xamot? That, that right there is priceless." Shipwreck leaned back in his chair. "Let me tell you, I am one hundred percent behind that as our new operating strategy." He folded his arms across his chest glancing with some concern at the paper clip Flint was terrorizing in his hand under the conference room table. Shipwreck did not want to be on the receiving end of Flint's aggression after this one. Those five days, technically four and a half, he had remaining on his bet in Ace's pool couldn't come fast enough. Shipwreck scanned his brain for more ways to feed the flame.

"That's what he said." Lady Jaye was doing her best to ignore Shipwreck's goading.

J.T., seated across the table from Jaye, gestured at her sunglasses and narrowed his eyes as he asked, "And did he do that? Because if he did . . ."

Lady Jaye quickly shook her head sideways, "No, it wasn't like that. This," she pointed a finger upward, "this was all me. I tripped and caught my face on the edge of his desk. He wasn't near me. When he cornered me against the bookshelf he wasn't trying to hurt me. It was as if he was trying to get himself hurt."

Shipwreck sprung forward in his chair, glancing around Flint to get in Lady Jaye's direct line of vision, "Wait, he cornered you against a bookshelf? I think you left out the good part." The paper clip in Flint's hand fell to the floor, a misshapen lump of metal.

Lady Jaye's cheeks reddened slightly, "Get your mind out of the gutter Ship. If you happened to be listening, the bookshelf was the site of the first exchange."

"Yeah, but cornered is the start of a way better story then exchange. In fact . . ."

"Shipwreck." Flint didn't even bothering turning toward Shipwreck, the tone of his voice was enough to send chills down the sailor's spine. Robo-Flint had finally made his first appearance.

Shipwreck dropped his head, "Sorry Sir, serious time, I know."

Flint began, "Why do we trust Tomax?" Flint gritted his teeth together, that wasn't quite right. He for one could never trust the man and he wasn't buying Jaye's full story. There was more to it, he could sense it. Something had happened to make her trust him though. He trusted her instincts completely and tried to focus on that. "Why do you trust him?"

"He has nothing to lose." Her answer was succinct and to the point. She had abandoned all thoughts of it being some type of con job to catch the Joes unaware. While that might be a tactic Cobra would employ, it wasn't the twins' style. They had enough savvy to not stoop to those levels on their own. She didn't doubt that Tomax was using the Joes for his own means. But that left out the why; he was using the Joes for his own means because he had nothing left. He was alone. "We're his only conceivable option. He doesn't trust anyone else and our beef wouldn't be with him."

"What now?" Patterson's voice broke the ensuing silence. Even though Patterson was on speakerphone, sitting comfortably in his office, Flint, and he noticed all of the FBI personnel straightening up in their seats, felt like Patterson was in the room right with them.

"Well Director, there's still the documents Tomax provided, if they only made some sense." Agent Miller threw his hands up in the air. Mainframe and one of the FBI techies had managed to decode the flash drive and retrieve a series of documents before the drive erased itself. The documents seemed to provide little evidence of any trail of money as alleged by Tomax. Rather, they looked like a set of land shipping documents with jumbled numbers and illegible letters typed in the blank fields.

Shipwreck, finally sufficiently distanced from his imaginings of himself engaged in an amorous hand-to-hand with Jaye, allowed his brain to refocus on the task at hand. "Hey, Mainframe, pop those docs back up on the screen." Mainframe complied as Shipwreck stroked his beard, deep in thought, "Well tell it to the Marines, we've got some pirates at work." He turned back to Mainframe, "Can you do that thing where you put the images all together?"

"You mean juxtapose?"

"No, not that, on top?" Shipwreck placed his two palms together in a not all that helpful demonstration of his intent.

"You mean superimpose?"

"Don't get all lofty on me, can you do it?"

"I can try." Mainframe set his jaw to work and after a few grunts of frustration managed to superimpose all of the data onto one form. "Hmmm."

"Hmm is right." Shipwreck elbowed Flint, "Check it out boss man. I see a raise in this sailor's future." Shipwreck addressed the group, "We busted a gang of Somali pirates before I became a Joe. They'd pass messages to each other through bills of lading. Individually, the receipts made no sense. They just had random words and numbers typed in the blanks. There were correct forms accounting for all the cargo though and as long as the cargo was verified, the ship masters just assumed a stray form was a clerical error. But if you took all those receipts and stacked them together, the pirates had found a way to communicate."

"I don't get it." Mainframe worked on adjusting the resolution.

"The student has become the teacher." Mainframe rolled his eyes as Shipwreck soaked up the spotlight. "The guy devising the job would slip in a bunch of these fake bills of lading on various ships headed to the same port. That way, if one got intercepted or didn't make it, the others were still out there. Once the ships docked, the customs agent would collect the documentation but wouldn't take these because the cargo was fully established by the legal receipts. Then in the dead of night the pirates would send someone to the ships to gather these receipts, under the radar so to speak. Put the papers together and it was a whole code communicating any manner of thing from ships to avoid to places to hit." Shipwreck pointed at the master document Mainframe created, "See here, it looks like we've got a lot of goods heading to some place in Pennsylvania. That's the money and so am I."

"Shipwreck, I could kiss you." Lady Jaye winked at him.

"Pucker up butter cup." Shipwreck grinned, puckered up his lips and placed his hands behind his head. He leaned back in the chair a little too far and went crashing head over heels to the floor. He gingerly picked himself up, held up his left hand in Flint's direction and stated, "I know, don't say a word Sir. Serious time, loud and clear."

"Nice work Shipwreck. But what is this, Salum Mountain MC? Jubinsky Road? Lake Quinn? Does this ring any bells? Mainframe, how long would a search take?" Flint looked around and was met with a lot of blank stares, except one. There was a big light bulb going off over Agent Miller's head.

"Actually, I might have an answer for that." Flint turned to Miller. "I think it's supposed to be Salem Mountain. And if so, I bet MC stands for mining company. I grew up with that logo," he shrugged his shoulders. "I'm originally from Carbondale and Salem was a pretty big mine operator back in the day. And all of those other locations," Miller pointed to a series of addresses toward the bottom of the form associated with the movement of supplies, "those are places and roads around Carbondale. Granted, the mines are mostly abandoned now. There was a pretty big one that was sectioned off near the local game lands, which would be that reference to Game Lands 300. I used to go fishing out there with my dad. You couldn't get near the old mine site. They said there was an underground coal fire but as kids poking around we never found any evidence."

"Agent Miller, how hard would it be to access one of these mines?"

"I'm no expert but it's pretty easy to get lost out there. With the exception of the game lands, it's empty. The exits from the highways were barricaded after the mines were shut down to discourage visitors and the dirt roads won't get you where you have to go. Might as well be Timbuktu. You have to understand, there's something like 180,000 acres of abandoned mine tunnels in Pennsylvania. There are tunnels under cities that most people don't even know exist. I'd guess if you wanted to hide an operation and had a reliable map and guide, it could be done."

"Let's assume Cobra did it. We need to figure out the how and where because that's the only thing that's going to lead us to them. I suppose if we know the how, that narrows down the where." Flint scratched at that spot between beret and eyebrow, struggling to place himself in Cobra's shoes. He was a farm boy though and the ins and outs of mining were not a natural fit. "Ok, Miller, like it or not, you're our expert miner right now."

Miller gulped, not at all accustomed to being front and center, "Well, if you look at the sheer amount of these supplies, Cobra will need access to a shaft and cage." Miller tapped his hand on the desk, raking his mind for almost forgotten knowledge of his youth. "Sorry, I haven't had to think about this stuff for a while. My family was a coal mining family-my uncle was superintendent of one of the local mines and my dad owned an outfitting store. My aunt still runs a B&B out there. But Cobra couldn't just patch into a tunnel and take over. They need an established shaft with an elevator. That reduces the haystack. We're still looking for a needle because any good shaft, if it hasn't been filled in, is probably still in use. Although mining has dropped off considerably, it's not completely dead."

"Um, Mr. Flint?" The techie working with Mainframe waved his hand in the air.

"Yes, agent . . .?"

"Actually, just Tewes. Not an agent, yet." The man let out a nervous laugh. "While you were discussing I ran a few searches in our database and hooked up with some reports coming out of our resident agency in Scranton. Past few months there's been an increase in UFO sightings around Archibald Mountain. That's close to Carbondale. People report weird lights drifting in the sky. And just last month there were reports of a biker gang taking up residence in the mountains and threatening hunters. Local authorities haven't found them, just evidence of destroyed camp sites littered with donut boxes and grape soda cans."

"Excellent work Tewes. Can you pinpoint the reports and compile a list of shafts in the area?"

Tewes broke out into a big grin, "That I can do."

"Miller," Lady Jaye entered the fray, "Are you still on good terms with your family?"

Miller nodded his head, "Aunt Margie says I don't visit enough."

"Good, I think I have an idea."


	14. At the Bottom

**Chapter 14: At the Bottom**

**2:00 p.m.**

**Extensive Enterprises, 200 Park Avenue, New York City**

Meeting with the Sumiyoshi-rengo lawyers was always draining. Tomax stumbled into his office, pausing to turn off the lights. The glare of the overhead florescent bulbs bored into his skull, magnifying the pounding drum in his temples. He took a few more steps into the room before acknowledging to himself that he was done. He bee lined for his desk and fell back into the chair, his body about as useful to him as a rag doll's. There was no life left in his limbs. He lifted an arm and watched as gravity pulled it down despite his best efforts to fight against its laws. That's what they did to you—the Takeda brothers, their legal contacts with the Sumiyoshi—they took the life from you.

The Takeda brothers, known far and wide as shrewd negotiators, had a way of coming out with the better end of a deal. Many dollars exchanged hands in an attempt to learn exactly how they did it. Tomax didn't have to spend any money to tell you how. Psychic vampires Xamot dubbed them. The Takeda brothers were larger than life and filled a room. They beat you down with their never-ending lists of questions and points to rehash. The more you squirmed, they more they enjoyed. They drained you so that, in the end, you lost your will to fight and wanted nothing more than to just sign on the dotted line. He and Xamot survived the Takeda brothers by playing their game. One brother would be the stronger, drawing his reserves from the other. Usually it was Xamot. For some reason the Takeda brothers saw a kindred spirit in Xamot. No one could ever say who got the better of the deal, the Paolis or the Takedas. It was best that way for both parties. There was an unwritten agreement that a draw was preferable to all. Today, Xamot was on fire. He had the Takedas on the ropes. A gentle poke from Tomax reminded Xamot of the stakes and the younger twin quickly retreated on a point, allowing the Takedas to save face with their kaicho.

After the bows and customary valedictions, Tomax withdrew to deal with the fallout in private. He was useless for hours until he got his strength back up. Normally, he would retire to his apartment, sleep, eat, watch some mindless television until the cotton jammed up in his head dissipated. Not today. Too much was riding on today.

First thing first, he had to close the loop with the Takedas. That meant a call to James. He groaned as he pushed against the chair and his body fell forward, his head landing sharply on his desk. _Sorry brother_, he thought. He willed an arm up and over, plopping it down a few inches from the telephone. Stretching his fingers out he mentally commanded them to reach out, be longer, but try as he might, he couldn't make them reach far enough. He let out a deep sigh and commanded jelly legs to push his body closer. Fingertips brushed against the plastic base and he walked them up to the keypad, where he dialed a number known by heart. James's deep bass seemed to rumble from the speaker in response.

Tomax mustered enough strength to outline the general parameters of the agreement they had reached with the Takeda brothers. It included the provision of additional R&D funds to the Sumiyoshi-controlled optics lab in return for patents and first buyer's rights to Mars. He could tell that James was pleased with the results when the man agreed to raise the twins' fees to 37 percent of gross profits on any future weapon systems incorporating the technology. It was a coup for Xamot and him. They were happy with the original 30 percent and figured, if necessary, they could make a tidy profit at 28 percent. The rest was a nice infusion to their rainy day fund. Tomax prepared to end the call but then remembered another task on his list.

"James, one last thing. If I send you a name, could you confirm a location for me? I do realize that it's an imposition on your time. As a gesture of my appreciation, I can provide you with the future whereabouts of some individuals I think you might find interesting." Tomax waited while James made a show of considering his offer. Once that was over, Tomax got down to business, "I know you're a fan of Dorsey. You might want to check out his Amy label catalogue." Tomax was satisfied that James would understand his message.

Tomax disconnected the call, eyelids heavy as he struggled to remain awake. It was only a matter of time before the Takeda brothers took too much and simple rest would not be enough to recover. He found he almost welcomed the thought. The absence of responsibility beckoned. He toyed with the keypad, recalling his brother's words, _call him_. With one call it could be done; he could end the war. What would it feel like to give up? Could he be happy? Would he even know if he wasn't? Did it matter? What was happiness to him anyway? Would it be salvation or a curse? As he pondered his next move, his fingers listened to a deeper part of him and instead dialed another number. He could barely keep himself propped up on the desk as the line rang. He zoned out, the rings hypnotizing, taking him in closer to nothingness. Sarah's frantic voice squeaked out his name, stirring the surface of his thoughts. He listened in silence as she managed to eke out a few words between her sobs. It was too much. His finger hit the disconnect button and he gave in to the darkness.


	15. Standing Outside a Southern Riot

**Chapter 15: Standing Outside a Southern Riot**

**10:15 p.m.**

**Forest Hills Bed and Breakfast, Carbondale, PA**

The sound of leaves crunching under Lady Jaye's feet drowned out the incessant chatter of the voice inside her head. It was a voice she was sure everyone had—the little presence inside reminding you when something probably wasn't as great of an idea as you thought. Right now Lady Jaye's inner voice was engaged in a fruitless game of "what I should have said." She tried to ignore it, but she just couldn't help to play along. The premise was simple, reflect back on a recent exchange and come up with a better response. It was an acting exercise she learned back in the day. It was useful for getting you inside a character and internalizing that character's personality. In Jaye's case, the character was often her and she was constantly working on making Jaye a tougher and more refined version of the person formally known to the world as Alison Hart-Burnett. The best example she could come up with was her first meeting with Scarlett. The not quite savvy Jaye managed to get all up in Scarlett's grill without a real purpose. That was an instance of tough yet not refined. The practiced version of herself would have stuck with the "I'm your replacement" angle and ditched the "tawdry redhead" remark. Lesson learned.

Now her inner voice wanted to work on the Tomahawk incident. There she displayed neither toughness nor refinement of any sort. The character known as Lady Jaye was a complete dud for that exchange. She was surely not the girl that Flint admired. Unfortunately, she was becoming less of that girl as of late. She just felt so tongue-tied around him, so fearful of messing up and being less than the girl he thought she was. Around everyone else she found it easy to just be the Jaye they expected. It was a role she could play in her sleep. Around him though, she just wanted to be herself, the version that wasn't always so tough. That was just a disaster waiting to happen because he no doubt preferred the Jaye that just was. She wanted to be that Jaye for him too; she couldn't deny that was a still a part of her personality. She just wanted more, which just contrasted with the fact that it was becoming increasingly clear that he did not.

_Ugh_. She just wished that inner voice would shut up. She dug in deep and broke out into a sprint, ignoring the voice and honing in and concentrating on the sound of her footfalls, thump, thump, thump on the ground. The B&B was located close to one of the many hiking trails dotting the area. Agent Miller's aunt was kind enough to point her toward one that was a bit tamer than the rest. As she slowed the pace down, she felt the kinks work out of her muscles. She didn't realize how tightly she was wound until the fresh air hit her. After everything that happened in the past 24 hours, it felt good to just be.

What she should be was in bed sleeping away and getting much needed rest. It was going to be a big day tomorrow. Still, her body was too wired. Although it was late and she was dog-tired, she found sleep wouldn't come. Instead, her body was overwhelmed by an urgent need to move. Aunt Margie, as the woman ordered everyone to call her, had settled Jaye in a large, comfy room with a canopy feather bed and floral quilt. It wasn't really Jaye's style, but it felt right for this place. Jaye considered herself to be more of a modern traditionalist kind of gal—not quite Cape Cod, not quite Manhattan—just somewhere straddling the line between sleek coffee table and plush sofa. The B&B on the other hand was Country and Garden on steroids. Still, it was kind of fun to live it for a time. Besides the fluffy bed, the room contained a cozy window bench that opened to reveal a treasure trove of random novels and old magazines. Jaye had tried to calm herself with a cup of chamomile tea and an old bodice ripper left behind sometime in the 70s. It was no use. The novel only reminded her of what she didn't have. With a sigh, she had put the book back and crawled under the covers, waiting for the sandman to come. After about a half hour of tossing and turning, she knew she needed to escape.

Jaye tried to be discrete as she tiptoed down the old winding staircase. Somewhere between step seven and step eight there was a warped beam, and her foot gave way to a large screech that surely had to have woken up the entire B&B. Jaye winced, praying her teammates were in too deep sawing logs of their own to be awakened by her movements. After it seemed that no one was interested in checking out the sound, she snuck down to the kitchen, where the back door was located. Fumbling with the lock, she screamed and jumped back when the lights snapped on, flooding the room with a bright incandescent light that hurt her head. She wheeled around, hand held over her eyes to see Aunt Margie standing in the doorframe, brandishing a wooden rolling pin in her right hand. The women laughed as they let down their guard. Aunt Margie seemed to instinctively know what Jaye needed and drew out a simple map of the back of her property, pointing to the various routes Jaye could take. Margie patted her back and said she'd put a pitcher of water in Jaye's room for when she returned.

Up ahead was the twisted oak tree that Aunt Margie gave as a marker. Slowing down, Jaye stopped by the tree, pressing her hands against it and stretching out her calf muscles. For a few seconds, she debated continuing onward but then decided that she had gone far enough. Time to turn around, get some rest, and then be prepared to join her team in the morning. And yes, she now thought of the FBI guys as part of her "team." At least they were giving her a chance, unlike Flint. Just thinking his name was enough to start that barely perceptible throbbing around her left eye. Unlike the others, Flint did not hold back in his objections to her plan.

It was a rather simple plan; get someone inside Cobra and the rest would follow. If Agent Miller was right, there were only a few viable entrance points to the mines around Carbondale. Careful work by Tewes, in conjunction with the FBI Scranton agency office, had narrowed the choices down to two. But getting in was only half the battle. The other half would be waged trying to find their way around once they were underground. They didn't have the time to expertly pinpoint Cobra's whereabouts prior to going in and they certainly didn't have the time to meander around the miles of mine tunnels in the hopes of stumbling on to something. They had to be smart in their ignorance. Miller warned them of the dangers of heading in the wrong direction. From rock falls and potential cave-ins to something with the sinister name of "blackdamp," they had their work cut out for them.

Taking all of the above under consideration, Jaye proposed that the best approach was to let Cobra take them to Cobra. The simplest way to do that would be by letting someone get "captured." She hypothesized that if someone posed as a mine worker or inspector and wandered beyond the area of legitimate activity, Cobra would notice. Cobra would then take that person to the heart of their operations. J.T., using his equipment, could map out the area and make it easier for a strike team to then go in under his guidance. Naturally, she suggested that she would be best for the initial contact. Flint was not of the same mind.

"No, absolutely not. I won't agree to it." Flint pushed away from the conference room table and began to pace in the small area between the table and the wall. The others had cleared out of the room to follow-up on their respective tasks, leaving Flint and Lady Jaye alone to iron out their difference of strategy.

"Flint, it's the only way. There's too many of them for a direct attack but we're not going to be able to sneak in unannounced. Heck, we don't even know where to go. But if we let Cobra show us the way, it solves a lot of problems."

"Then not you. Let's send in Shipwreck."

Lady Jaye wasn't even going to start on his first statement. "Shipwreck hasn't done this type of work before."

Flint remained silent.

Lady Jaye continued down her list, "And we need Mainframe on the outside for the strike group. You're not known for covert ops. They'll suspect you right away and the risk is too great they won't take you."

Flint stopped, "You think I couldn't pull it off?"

Lady Jaye was just about ready to pull out her hair. "Yes, you could pull it off . . ."

"Then why . . ."

"Let me finish." She glared at him, "You are memorable. You have a presence and a certain carriage . . ." She paused, trying not to think too much about his presence and carriage. "If they get close to you, they'll know it's you right away. I'm used to blending in. They won't notice me until we're ready." She didn't want to beg, but that's what she felt like she was doing. "This is our best chance of getting someone on the inside."

"Well what about the FBI?"

"Agent Miller?" She raised her eyebrows, "You honestly think Agent Miller is our best option?"

Flint reluctantly agreed with her assessment. He stopped his pacing and leaned against the wall.

Lady Jaye anticipated his next thought, "And we need J.T. on the outside. He's the only one capable of running two transmitters. Without him, we are truly lost."

Flint pushed away from the wall and resumed his pacing, thinking out loud, "Still, it's too risky. I can't risk one of my men for some wild goose chase." He held back the thing that he really wanted to say, that he didn't want to risk her. He was doing exactly what he knew he shouldn't do, treat her differently. When he began to entertain thoughts of them as a them, he debated himself on what it would even mean to be a "them." It wasn't like in high school where he could pick her up from her house, meet up with her after practice, and stash a few things in her locker because it was closer to his English class. If they made it official, it would have to be strictly off the record. He couldn't do the things he'd probably do if he were dating someone. There'd be no waiting for her after practice, lord knew Beach Head would blow a gasket, and he'd have to think long and hard before he stashed anything in her locker. Their life, for all intents and purposes, would remain much as it was. Could he deal with the status quo? And that was even setting aside the dangers they faced if they were to be found. He was pretty sure he'd land on his feet, but her, she'd most likely face a discharge, dishonorable at best. When he came to his decision, he didn't come to it lightly. He was ready to be as much to her as she wanted. He only had to take one glance at her to confirm. Even if they could never go on a date for the entirety of their career, just the thought that one day they could, that one day she could be his girl, was enough to make any of it worthwhile.

The conclusion was the easy part, figuring out the rest was going to be tough. How on earth could they make it work? For starters, he had to give credit where credit was due. Her plan was good; it made sense. His duty was to now effectuate that plan and ensure a successful mission. That meant he had the responsibility to use his men where best needed. For the first time he dreaded his tactician brain. If his relationship was ever going to go beyond being just teammates with her, he'd have to learn to reconcile his feelings with his responsibilities. Being responsible meant using her exactly where her skill set would shine. Begrudgingly, he knew that meant sending her down below, on her own. He glanced over at her again. As he watched her bite her lip and wiggle her feet in her shoes, his heart couldn't risk her on some half-baked scheme. "If anyone goes in, it will be me." Flint might need a little bit more time to figure it all out. He folded his arms, signaling that his decision was made.

"Come on Flint."

"Are you questioning my authority?"

"That's not fair. You know I'm not questioning your authority. I'm not questioning you. Please, just let me do my job."

And they had left it at that, an uneasy truce. The pieces seemed to fall into place as the team packed up, leaving the urban sprawl of New York. Soon high rises and shopping malls were replaced by ripe, endless fields. Once they arrived in Carbondale, Agent Miller's aunt arranged for lodging and planted the seeds of their visit. Lady Jaye and J.T. were inspectors with the Department of Energy following up on mine safety reports. Back in DC, Patterson worked on creating a traceable background, promising to have badges and other props delivered to them early the next morning. Mainframe's friend Joe managed to finagle some prototype earphones that would allow Mainframe to talk with J.T. once they went down below. Mainframe vetoed Jaye getting a pair, despite Flint's insistence. There was too much concern Cobra could pick up and trace the signal. In case they had issues with direction because of the tunnels, Shipwreck's Navy buddy John loaned the group a state of the art GPS navigational system to keep their bearings. The strike team would at least have some sense of where they were traveling in the greater scheme of things.

Lady Jaye slowed down her pace as she reached the B&B property line. Glancing at her watch, it wasn't quite 10:30. Jogging in place, she again debated another go at the trail. She still felt wound up. Reason, and maybe that inner voice, instructed her that the best course of action was to get inside, maybe take a bath, curl up with a book, a different book, and try to at least rest her mind. The plan was coming along and there wasn't anything she could do until morning. As she pondered her next move, she eased into some stretches. She reached down to touch her toes. Rising up, she instantly regretted it as a wave of dizziness washed over her. The pounding resumed around her left eye; the Tylenol must have worn out. J.T. had offered to get her something stronger, but she had declined, citing to the need to be sharp for the mission. At this point, she added that decision to her list of regrets. A little something stronger might have helped her fall asleep and avoid this all from the beginning. Shrugging it off, she decided to head inside. Walking past a white gazebo, she figured she would at least try to just chill.

"Hey, Jaye."

She shrieked and jumped back, arms raised to fight.

Flint emerged from the darkness of the gazebo, hands held up in surrender. "It's just me."

"Flint, you scared the beejeezus out of me." Her heart was threatening to jump right out of her chest. "What are you doing?" She blew a quick breath of air out, trying to calm down her system. Flint took her elbow and guided her to the gazebo. An optimist would probably call the gazebo "intimate" as their knees bumped when they sat down. She felt a spark as they touched; it was like a tiny jolt of electricity passing through her body. She gasped, wondering if he felt the same.

"I stopped by your room."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Me neither." Flint shifted his weight on the bench feeling like he was standing outside a riot, watching the chaos burn from a distracted distance. He had a visceral longing to jump into the melee and let the crowd take him. He was prepared when he stopped by her room earlier. When she wasn't there, it was almost a relief. It was like he got a pass on Kansas City part two. Then he made the mistake of going to the kitchen to get a snack. Margie, make that Aunt Margie, told him where Jaye had gone. He watched as his feet then walked him outside and took up residence in the gazebo. Waiting only led to thinking. Thinking never did anything but get him in deeper with Jaye. He was so deep now he didn't know what to say.

Jaye stole a peek at Flint and immediately looked down. He was staring back at her with an intense look on his face. Her leg jittered up and down, uncomfortable with this level of scrutiny. Her feathers ruffled; she felt wasn't something to observe in a petri dish. She tried to fill in the space. "I went for a run." She cringed, master of the obvious.

"I noticed." He gestured at her overall appearance.

Feeling that their conversation wasn't going to go anywhere, she decided to extricate herself from any more pain and started to rise, "Well, I should probably . . ."

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her back down to the bench. "Don't." She stopped. He released her wrist, thankful she had stayed. "Alison, what happened to us?"

She looked back at him, perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

"Us, the two of us. Something happened and I don't know where we went wrong. You used to talk to me, but after Kansas City you stopped." She started to speak, but he held up his hand, stopping her. "Don't say you haven't. You have. I've had a front row seat for it. Alison, it's like you haven't heard me. I meant everything I said."

"Haven't heard you. That's what you think? You think I haven't heard you? That's a good one." She felt her anger kicking in. "Believe me, I heard you loud and clear." She started to pace in the confined space. "You made yourself more than perfectly clear in the Tomahawk."

"The Tomax thing? Come on. I apologized. I was angry and stupid. I certainly didn't mean it."

"But you said it and it really hurt. I have feelings too. You just can't say something like that and expect me to just shrug it off. I can't."

"I know you do. I never meant to hurt you."

"But you did Flint. You said it. I don't think you can just take it back. And now, wanting Shipwreck to go undercover and not me?"

"Shipwreck? What does Shipwreck have to do with anything?"

She stopped pacing, turning to face him, "He has everything to do with this. Listen, I know I made a mistake in Kansas City. You asked what happened. That's what happened. I shouldn't have done what I did. I threw myself at you. I know, it was wrong and stupid and I'm sorry. I'm just really sorry. But you could have ignored it. Instead, you treat me like I'm some damsel in distress . . ."

"Whoa, slow down. That's what this is about?" Flint couldn't help it, the smile slipped out before he had a chance to temper his emotions. Here he thought she was avoiding him for what _he_ did. No. She was avoiding him for what she thought _she_ did. She was beating herself up for thinking she threw herself at him. If that was the case, then damn, life was good. He wasn't alone in this. Flint found he had to rein in his thoughts a tad bit as he watched Jaye's face morph from an awkward embarrassment to a slow burn. He forgot to play his poker face. From the looks of it, she was about to let him have it. No matter, he could take it. She cared about him. The side of his mouth perked up. He was on a role. That smile just kept fighting to be had.

"You're laughing at me!"

He could pretty much predict her actions. Now that he wasn't dancing on the fire, he found he could relax a bit and almost preened on his knowledge of how she'd react. Yep, sure enough, there it was, hands on hips, legs apart, eyes narrowed down to embers. He wiggled his own hips on the bench trying to adjust his pants. All he could think of was how hot she looked right now. There was something inherently sexy about mad Jaye. He was a thirsty man who just found his oasis.

"I can't believe you find this funny." She bit her lower lip, finding that she was always a beat away from tears these days. "Screw you." She pivoted around and stormed off before Flint had a chance to explain. Even knowing she was marching off in anger did little to break his jubilant mood. Rather, he simply admired the view. Standing up, he felt like doing a victory dance around the gazebo. Intertwining his fingers, he pushed his hands out, cracking the bones in his knuckles. With a tilt of the head to the left and then to the right, his game face was on. Time to put away his pride and test out his decision.


	16. Trembling Hands

**Chapter 16: Trembling Hands**

**11:15 p.m.**

**Forest Hills Bed and Breakfast, Carbondale, PA**

Flint did not make his decision to allow Lady Jaye to march off in a huff lightly. Having bore witness to many incidents in which others did not grant her that necessary space, exhibit A being Beach Head, he made the smart decision to give her time to cool down and regroup. Besides, he needed a little time to plan his next move. The situation called for more than a standard mea culpa, I won't do it again. For one thing, he didn't think he made a mistake. To the contrary, he was confident he was doing everything right. And for the other, he wasn't going to promise not to do it again. In fact, he had grand designs to do the exact opposite. Kansas City was but a warm up to what he had going on in his head. To get there, it was going to take his "A" game. He was finding, however, that his "A" game was a little rusty. Scratching at that spot just below his beret, he was feeling the effects of too little sleep and too little romancing. It had been a while since he used his schooling to woo a girl. Still, this was the tongue of Chaucer, Dylan Thomas, Atticus Finch, and Eugene O'Neill. Could he really not think of anything?

After giving it some thought, the first thing to pop into his head was Marvell. His natural instinct was to fall back on Marvell. That man made life so easy. Pretty coeds, and a few generals' daughters, melted their inhibitions with a few well-chosen verses whispered in their ear. _Had we but world enough, and time_, was usually all it took to allow an introduction to their lips. _An hundred years should go to praise thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze_, would allow him the privilege to unbutton a blouse. _Two hundred to adore each breast_, usually would permit him the opportunity to do just that. _But thirty thousand to the rest_, and he was running the bases with ease. Tonight was different. Marvell wouldn't do for tonight. This wasn't going to be a drive-by romancing.

Flint entered the B&B, groping in the dark to find the master switch to turn off the outside lights. That deed done, he turned the deadbolt, sealing the B&B from the night. The darkened kitchen floated before him as he hovered on his own cloud of thought. With the glimpse of her mind, she had bewitched him all the more. Throughout life, he was the hunter stalking his prey. She had been that once upon a time. That time seemed so long ago. No, Marvell wouldn't do at all. Dickenson? Perhaps. _Wild Nights—Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be our luxury._ That had always been good for extending certain liaisons out past their prime. The lines, when recited over the telephone during an unscheduled stop, had a better than 50/50 chance of saving him from some flea-infested motel. He wasn't looking to score room and board tonight. No, Dickenson wouldn't do. Shakespeare? The bard was generally reliable in all sorts of tricky situations. From drunken dorm room debates to late mother's day cards, a little Shakespeare thrown in put one in better standing. He couldn't see her swooning over that. She was too mad to fall for a comparison's to a summer's day. She was more lovely and more temperate, he laughed at that one. While she was many things, temperate was not on the list. Falling back on the bard was a little too sophomoric for his needs.

She deserved more. He longed to tell her more. To think, she honestly thought she threw herself at him, as if he didn't play a part. No one would ever know what happened that night in Kansas City. He only remembered it as the sound of her quickened breath, the feel of the air as her lips hovered before his, the instant skin touched skin and he knew his partner. Whatever the catalyst, it didn't matter. What mattered now was ending the doubt and the second-guessing. And for that he needed the right words.

Flint's stomach rumbled in response. He looked down, "You too?" A gurgle replied, reminding him that he really hadn't eaten enough when they stopped for a quick bite on the road. He was focused solely on mission planning and barely remembered the drive-through hamburger he inhaled. He weighed his options. Proceed to Jaye's room and scare her with the amount of noise coming from his gut, or appease his gut and then finish this thing. His murmuring stomach was the answer. A quick detour to the refrigerator was in order to square away that front. Right behind the morning pancake batter was half of a turkey sandwich. Before he went out after Jaye, Aunt Margie said she'd leave it for him. He had to hand it to Aunt Margie, the woman was prepared for anything. Gulping down the sandwich in two bites, Flint followed up with a glass of milk. He looked around before puffing a quick breath of air into his palm. He wrinkled up his nose—no doubt further stalling by his body's defenses.

It was hard to walk past her room when he desperately wanted to be inside. He knew she had retreated there. Light and shadow chased each other under the door, giving away her presence as she moved about the room. Knowing she was there, only separated from him by a slab of wood, pulled him like a magnet. He raised a fist to knock on her door. His hand hovered there, the past and present combined in the one action. He shook his head and kept moving. Sure there was a certain element of spontaneity lost by ducking into his room and taking a couple of swigs out of the mouthwash bottle. But romance, like a battle, needed a general plan of attack. Since his intention was to enter her camp and hold up the white flag of truce, he would leave nothing to chance. He glanced in the mirror. Beret on straight? Check. Milk mustache? Gone. Nothing stuck between the teeth? Clean. He was still left with the words that wouldn't come.

Words of love were easy to recite. Anyone with half a brain could walk into Hallmark on any given Sunday and find something pithy and moving to parrot. It was taking those words and making them mean something where the true skill lay. He had to admit, he was no slouch in this arena. He could fill her ears from now until they met their final rest. He didn't just want to fill her ears; he wanted to blow her mind. Words alone wouldn't do for him tonight. This was where he meant to make his final stand. If he lost tonight, there would be no more battles to fight. He would have lost the war. Dashiell Faireborn did not lose. Not like this. He would not lose her. And then he knew, Keats. _A thing of beauty is a joy for ever; its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness; but still keep a bower quiet for us, and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing_. To battle he would go to fight for the very heart of his future.

Flint found himself back where he always seemed to end up, her door. How many times would he find himself here, groveling? _The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war_. He smiled, make no mistake, this was going to be drawn-out campaign. Tonight was but a battle, an important battle nonetheless. If he won, there would be further engagements. If he lost, well, like he said, Faireborn men didn't lose. It wasn't in them. His dad had defied the odds and gotten his city-bred mom to accept an appointment at Kansas and life on the farm. Butler made his own conquest, getting a California gal with a California-size clan to pack up and move to the Midwest, where they had started their own little brood, four and counting. Day was making his own name, picking up where his older brothers had left off on the single-front. Flint had no plans to be the first Faireborn to fail.

He rapped his knuckles lightly on the wood. No response. He expected as much. Knowing her, she was still stewing. He rapped again. Pressing his ear to the door, he heard the faint shuffling of her inside, ignoring him. Looking around the hallway, Flint debated the merits of banging on the door and calling out her name until she appeared. If he had his druthers, that's exactly what he would do. When it came to the possibility of waking up the entire floor and Agent Miller up in the attic, his druthers took a back seat to the practicalities of life. On a whim, he turned the doorknob. It offered no resistance and he stepped inside.

Lady Jaye sat on the edge of the bed brushing her hair. Her feet dangled over the side, not quite touching the wool rug beneath. She looked up at him, surprised. She had taken the sunglasses off and left them on the nightstand. With the glasses gone, her eyes were liquid pools into which he wanted nothing more than to drown. There was a sadness there, a hurt he longed to comfort. There was also a vulnerability to her, he felt needed. All he wanted was to be needed, to be useful to her beyond an extra pair of hands and a gun. She had changed into that beat-up Army t-shirt, worn and threadbare so that the light glowing from the lamp behind her shone through the hazy material, the lines of her body illuminated. Flint's breath caught in his throat. He hated that t-shirt. It wasn't even respectful enough to be called a t-shirt. She always brought it along and its existence taunted him. It would be so pleasurable to cast it aside tonight. He glanced to his right and wondered how well it would act as kindling for the fireplace.

He took a step into the room, rehearsing his lines. She didn't welcome him though. There was a subtle shift in her body as she moved away from him. That wouldn't do. Not at all. Flint wanted her to rush over to him like she used to after he'd been away on a mission. Then, they would find each other, careful not to be too eager, but rushing to each other just the same. Her head would lean up toward him, taking in every word, their bodies drawn to each other, hungry for the other after too much time spent apart. It was then that he began his ruminations on life and love. He kept that in the back of his head as he watched her freeze up and wipe any trace of being a living, breathing person from her face. He'd seen her do it so many times—become the ice queen. He didn't like being on the receiving end, no matter how deserved.

She stood up from the bed, hairbrush still clutched in her hand. He had the feeling she wanted to smack him with it. He wasn't about to give her a chance. At that moment, there was only one way to make his intentions known. Enough with this beating around the bush, there would be time enough for words. If the pen was mightier than the sword, then there was something even mightier than that. In one swift motion he managed to close the door with his foot and stride across the carpet to where she stood. Grasping her face in his hands, he silenced her with a kiss. All the time he wasted worrying seemed silly and foolish. Words were wasted moments. This should have been his response to her all along.

Flint entering her room was surprising enough. Flint suddenly in front of her, hands cradling her face, lips pressed to hers, was downright shocking. Who on earth did he think he was? After everything that happened, he couldn't just waltz into her room and expect that all would be forgiven because he threw a little physical affection her way. That was her pride talking, her stubborn, obstinate, foolish pride. It was an internal battle of wills between the Lady Jaye she had constructed and the Alison she was underneath. They were all in her, making her whole. But for whom did he care? Surely it wasn't who she was deep down. Flint was what one would call a very confident man. Confidence beget confidence. Flint wouldn't have any use for an Alison. That being the case, she couldn't be used like this. She raised her hand to slap him and instead grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her. She felt like water suddenly hit by the sun. The warmth started in the pit of her stomach, radiating outward until her body was ablaze. She lost her grip on the brush as she reached up with her other hand. Heaven help her. The brush hit the floor, bouncing up onto her foot, the bristles painful on her bare skin. She cried out, jumping back slightly, looking down at the offending instrument. Her disengagement caught Flint unawares who then tilted his head down to check out the action at the exact same time she lifted hers back up. Their skulls banged together and both experienced the pain of the cosmos raining down as they saw stars, millions and millions of stars. She lifted her hand to her forehead, rubbing the rapidly forming lump. Feeling dizzy, she stumbled back into the bed, losing her balance, falling backward. Flint followed, landing on top of her, knocking the breath out of her, his weight crushing against her bruised abdomen. Flint, content with the change of scenery, leaned back in to resume where he had left off.

"Flint . . . can't . . . breathe . . . owww" she grimaced, pushing against him.

"Hmmm?" He kissed the spot where their heads had met.

"Can't breathe." She tried to roll out from under him, "Off me. Heavy . . . hurts . . . "

"Oh! Sorry." Slightly disappointed, he rolled to his side, tracing the contours of her face. He winced, carefully navigating around her bruised eye. It wasn't as swollen as before. He still wanted to kill that damn twin for doing it in the first place. He didn't care what she said; there was more to it. He exhaled; he wasn't going down that road tonight. His hand worked its way down to her chest, lower still to her stomach. She flinched away from his touch.

"What's this?" He didn't wait for a response and pulled her shirt up, revealing the blue and purple welts and bruises circling her body. "Hon," he looked up at her, "why didn't you say something?"

Still feeling as if it would all dissolve in an impressionistic fog, Jaye could only shrug her shoulders, eyes glued to his, timid to make the next move.

He drew his fingers across her stomach, wishing he had the power to take it all away. She'd certainly been through the ringer this last mission. And now, he was about to throw her into the lion's den. Not before she knew how he felt. Not this time.

He caressed her skin and she closed her eyes in response, arching her back slightly, ignoring the throbs that action brought. Propped up on his elbow, he leaned in, his lips following the path his hand had made. Her skin was warm against his. He kissed her chin, pulling back, judging her response. There was no mistaking the quickening of her breath. He could see it in the way her chest rose up and down, trembling at his touch. He had to hand it to himself; he was good.

She stared back, her eyes widening, reserved yet alive with desire. "Dash, are you sure?"

He had to laugh, "Alison, say my name again."

"Dash?" An eyebrow shot up.

He reached down, kissing her lips. "_To make a final conquest of all of me, love did compose so sweet an enemy, in whom both beauties to my death agree, joining themselves in fatal harmony._" He planted a kiss on each eye, careful of her injury. "_That while she with her eyes my heart does bind_," he hovered above her mouth, teasing, "_she with her voice might captivate my mind_." Sometimes, in the end, Marvell was exactly the right choice.

As Flint kissed her, he couldn't shake the nagging suspicion she was holding back from him, that there was a hidden room where she had retreated to watch as her physical body responded to his advances. He wanted all of her, body and soul. If she wouldn't have him in that way, it wouldn't do. He had enough outlets for the physical. He needed it all and it had to be from her. She had made all other lives less interesting.

He stopped. "Ali, I'm in this for real. I want you to be too. We don't have to do anything you don't want to. I'm not about that."

She moved her head against his chest, "I want to Flint, I mean, Dash. I want to very much. It's just . . ."

"It's just what."

"It's just . . . it's just that I think you might be attracted to something I'm not, not entirely. If you knew me, the real me, you might not . . . care, not like that. I worry about our careers; that it's not worth what you may have to give up. The team, what would happen if it got out? What if you get bored, you'll get bored I'm sure. You've been such a great partner and friend, you've been my best friend. I wouldn't want to do this, not if I couldn't do it with you. I'm afraid of what I could lose, of what I will lose." She stopped, having presented her fears. It was out there now, her insecurities laid bare before him.

He cradled her close to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "You won't lose anything Ali, I promise you. I know you. You may not think it, but I do. You're Camilla and Belphoebe. You're Elizabeth and Jane Bennet. You're Alison and Jaye. You're you, everything that makes you. You're strong, but you can feel." He ran a hand down her arm, delighting in the bumps left behind in his wake. "Above all, I'll never be bored, not like that."

Flint grew more circumspect. "I've thought about our careers. I want to be with you and I don't want to ruin your life. I've thought about what I want to accomplish during mine. I know I can't be a Joe forever. This is a young's man game we play. I want to write. Some day, I think I might want to teach, like my mom. But it wouldn't be the same if I couldn't imagine you there. Whatever may be, whatever may be involved in our being together, the harm to me will be less than if we parted. I've thought so much about this. I thought I ought to keep it back from you. I don't want to interfere or influence the choices you'll have to make—but I can't. With you there is life and joy and all good things. Away from you, there is only what has always been." He took her face in his hands, "I know it's easy for me to say this. The danger to you is so much greater than the danger to me. I'll be discrete. I'll try. I swear to you though, if anything should happen. If anyone should ever threaten you, I'll leave. I don't wish to follow this path if I can't follow it with you."

Flint said all that needed to be said. There was no doubt now; there could be no doubt in her mind that he saw her for who she was, assertive and timid, resolved and unsure. And she knew him. For all his brawn and bluster, he needed her, too. Flint always projected an image of self-assurance. She had seen the other side of him. She wanted both parts. She broke out into a smile just as his lips found hers.

"Happy?" He began to kiss down her neck.

"Mmmm, very." She rolled up on top of him. She was met with a face full of felt. "This has to go." She tossed the beret off the bed, planting kisses along his hairline. Her body tingled as Flint worked down her neck to nuzzle against her collarbone.

"I know something else that needs to go." Flint tugged at her faithful grey Army t-shirt, running his hands down her back.

"Certainly." With a wink and a sly smile, she rose up, straddling his form. It took one fluid motion for the t-shirt to become airborne and float gracefully through the air before hovering for a moment, and then landing on top of his beret.

"_And all my forces needs must be undone_." He reached up, pulling her down.

* * *

Jaye was falling fast, the floors of the building next to her whizzed by yet the ground never appeared. Heart racing, she flailed her arms and legs, reaching out for anything that might stop her descent. She screamed, knowing that the impact would surely kill her. Suddenly she felt arms reach around her middle, jolting her out of the fall. Her ribs cracked from the pressure and jagged bone poked out of her skin. Limp as a rag doll, she watched in horror as another figure rushed past her, tumbling to his doom. It was Tomax. He ended up on his back, eyes locked with hers. _Save her_, he mouthed before closing his eyes, giving in. She shrieked as his body hit the pavement, shattering into a thousand pieces. "You're next," the arms holding her were connected to a head, Xamot. He kissed her hard and fast. He only sought to take from her, to taste the death from her lips. With a dismissive sigh, he let go. The ground raced toward her. She held out her hands, unable to make a sound.

"Ali, Ali, wake up." Flint shook her shoulders, gentle at first, but then with more urgency as her whimpers took on more force. She came to with a start, gasping as she sucked air into her chest, shaking from the force of the dream.

"Shh, shhh," he whispered into her ear, gathering her up into his arms, and rocking her body. "It was a dream, just a dream."

It took Jaye a moment to get her bearings. She glanced around the room. The electric glow from the clock radio read 3:30. It was 3:30 in the morning then. Still a few hours before dawn and responsibility would have their way. She settled back into Flint and felt the tendrils of the dream dissipate as she found solace in his strong arms. He was still there, with her.

"What happened?" He brushed away the few strands of her hair that had gotten in her eyes.

"I was falling and Xamot caught me. Only to watch Tomax die. Then he let me go." A shudder ran through her.

"I'll catch you, always." He kissed her swollen mouth.

The need rose up in her for more than that. She grabbed him, "Don't let me go."

He didn't.


	17. Answers and Questions

**Chapter 17: Answers and Questions**

**5:45 a.m.**

**Forest Hills Bed and Breakfast, Carbondale, PA**

What was it that Shakespeare said, parting is such sweet sorrow? That one phrase summed up Flint's feelings as he peeled back the covers and allowed the crisp morning air to attack his senses. He glanced back at Jaye's sleeping form. It pulled at him. It would be pure bliss to crawl back under the covers and allow sleep to overtake him. Even though it had only been for a few hours, it was the best sleep he'd had in a long time. It was a deep, restful sleep, absent of dreams. Rising from the bed, he fumbled around in the dark for his clothes.

"Dash?" A brunette mess of hair poked out from under the covers, glimmering eyes barely clearing the comforter. "Dash, what are you doing?" She made no move beyond that. He had learned one thing from his missions spent with Lady Jaye. If ever there was a person entirely unsuited to morning, it was her. Poking and prodding did no good. She was like an old Xerox machine where you had to flip the switch and patiently wait for the machine to slowly rattle to life, each system firing up and coming on line in sequence. Generally, he found that a warm thermos of coffee could speed up the process—it was still a process though.

He sat on the edge of the bed, slipping on his shoes. "It's still early, you should go back to sleep while you can."

"Hrmph." Now a nose and mouth joined the eyes on the other side of the blanket. "How early?"

"5:45 early."

"You should still sleep too. Come back. It's cold" She patted the pillow next to her, shivering slightly as the air prickled her skin.

He rolled his head around his shoulders. He'd like nothing more than just that. Man, this was going to be hard. If it was going to be like this every morning—and he did recognize that it really wouldn't be every morning—but if the mornings he had with her would be like this, they'd have to do a much better job coordinating their leave. He knew two people who were not leaving the confines of the bed, wherever that bed may be, in two weeks when he had his next weekend off scheduled. The corner of his mouth rose up in a lopsided smile. He was lucky he was best buds with the guy in charge of approving leave requests, mentally noting that he needed her to put in a request yesterday. He leaned over, kissing her forehead and tucking the covers around her. "I know. I'm being discrete remember? It wouldn't do any good to have half the team see me leave your room."

She wrinkled her nose, "I hate when you're practical." She tilted her head as the sound of faint tweets began to fill in the lulls. Aunt Margie had warned the team that the birds could be a little loud this time of year. Jaye winked, a devious spark in her eye, "I think that's the nightingale and not the lark."

"Ahhh, you slay me woman." He gathered her in his arms. "One kiss and I'll descend."

**5:45 a.m.**

**The Dakota, Upper West Side, Manhattan**

It had been a long night full of twisted dreams and lengthy pauses of unwanted clarity. Tomax shifted in his bed, fearful of waking his brother, asleep two arm lengths away. Tomax only had to roll over to his side, reach out, and his fingers would graze Xamot's outstretched hand. Tomax barely recalled the chain of events that landed him in his bed yesterday. After Tomax had collapsed in his office, Xamot came to his side, assisting him down to the car and then up to his apartment. Although the twins kept separate residences, they usually shared the same space. Xamot had then kept a close eye on him, tending to his every need. Finally convinced that Tomax would recover, Xamot, exhausted himself from experiencing Tomax's plight, collapsed on the bed, gone to the world. Xamot's breath came out in long, languid breaths, his exhales matching the resonance of his inhales.

The room still had the darkness of the predawn, the ever-present city lights a dim glow around the curtains. The center was black, much as Tomax felt. Some of the dreams were troubling. She had been in several of them. Not Michelle, Lady Jaye. One of them falling was especially vivid. Xamot caught her and allowed his brother to tumble to the pavement below. Tomax asked Xamot to protect Lady Jaye, but he knew his sibling wouldn't. He was only torturing the Joe, prolonging her misery. Xamot could drag things out that way. Tomax couldn't spend too much time thinking about it given the prone figure sharing his bed. Yet, he was bothered by the fact that he may have crossed wires with the pretty Joe.

The twins had always found her attractive. One month Xamot had gone on a quest for similar-looking girls. It wasn't the same as being with her. Tomax knew her story and always wondered how a Boston socialite-in-training ended up enlisted in the military. Surely a commission was hers for the asking. That might have been a respectable career choice for a time—until it _was_ time for marriage and ensuring the continuance of the Hart empire. She didn't go that route. He traced it to Ireland and the path grew cold from there. Something had happened. Now his side fascination with her may have cost him. If Xamot ever suspected there was more to his interest in her than a passing fancy shared by the brothers, he would leverage it to the fullest extent possible. Tomax would emerge. She would not. Then they'd have to deal with that beret-wearing shadow of hers. Tomax knew his story too. Know your enemies after all. Flint's background was predictable and Tomax didn't waste any ink on it. What did she see in the rash, hot-headed buffoon? Flint probably wore her down with his encyclopedia of poems. How utterly droll that man must be to her. She had a temper of her own though and if some of his past exploits were to reach her ears? He sighed, knowing that he'd leave it to the buffoon to come clean. Besides, the buffoon was busy working on his own angle. Speaking of which . . . .

Tomax slid out of the bed, one leg following the other until he managed to glide his entire body out from under the covers without making a sound. Silent, he crept out of the room and down the hall to his office. There would be one man up.

"James. No, it's Tomax. Why do you ask? What has he offered you?" Tomax remained quiet as James explained to him Xamot's call yesterday to confirm the deal with the Takeda brothers.

"But that was my responsibility. Why did _he_ call you?" There was a pregnant pause. Tomax waited, knowing that his relations with James were stronger than his brother's. James would sing as he always did. And sure enough, it was out. Xamot had asked James to lend a quiet influence to Tomax's decision.

"You can say what you like. He'll figure it out anyway. I don't know what I'm going to do. There are certain matters that need my full attention. Were you able to find anything out?" Tomax jotted down a few notes as James updated him on the progress made in tracking down Tomax's requested address.

"Thank you. I appreciate it." James asked for further confirmation of the information Tomax had given him yesterday.

"Yes, I can confirm that they will be there today. She'll be out in front, in case you were wondering." Tomax ended the call, a shadow falling across the desk.

"Who was that brother?"

The sound of Xamot's footsteps raised the hairs on the back of Tomax's neck. He hated being this disconnected from his brother. It was like living with a ghost of himself. He never knew what would greet him around the next corner. Every second he had to be sharp. He couldn't keep it up much longer. "That was James. He's making the first deposit today."

"I know, he told me yesterday."

Tomax felt Xamot's warm breath on the back of his neck. "That's what he said. It was my job to call him brother."

"I feared you wouldn't be capable."

Xamot was just behind him; Tomax could feel his twin's body press up against his. "I was and I did. He had some advice for me just now."

Xamot wrapped his arms around his twin, his face resting on his shoulder. His scar was pressed up against Tomax's cheek and it looked like Tomax was leaning his head against a mirror. "Will you consider it?"

Tomax leaned his head back into Xamot. Giving in his brother's embrace, he closed his eyes, blocking out the rising sun. "I told him I was."

**5:45 a.m.**

**215 E. Oak Street, Carbondale, PA**

Duncan laced up his work boots, careful to avoid shredding his last pair of laces. Sometimes he pulled too tight, breaking them and then he'd have to start all over with a new pair. Times were tight and he couldn't afford to splurge on new laces when he had perfectly serviceable ones at the ready, if only he could control his movement. It had been happening more and more lately, the sudden tremors and uncontrollable shakes that racked his body. His daughter told him to go to the doctor. He knew it was a lost cause. Mother Nature would have her way with him and no quack was going to change that. Better to save the money for his daughter and her four children, three strapping lads and one bonny lass, little Una, the apple of his eye. If he thought his death would provide them with a better life, he'd up and off himself in a heartbeat. He was working on it though and soon, very soon, Nora and his grandchildren would want for nothing.

He made his way down the creaky steps, stopping upon seeing the light coming from the kitchen. It was much too early for Nora to be up. Walking into the kitchen, there she was sitting at the table, tea and a packed lunch set out for him.

"Nora," he scolded her, "I told you not to bother. I'm not helpless." Duncan frowned, pulling out a chair.

Nora, a slight woman with wavy brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, rose up from her seat to plant a kiss on her father's cheek. "Don't be such a grump. I'm not doing this every day so don't get used to it. I thought it might be nice for you to not have to worry on your first day."

The rest of Nora's thoughts went without saying. They had been waiting for a day like this to come for too long. As a mining family, they had done pretty well and were used to the ups and downs of life. Some years were better than others. Overall, they managed and Nora thought the kids had a decent life. Then the news came that the mine was closing. She dreaded that day. Although her husband Ryan was promised a severance, the idle gossip around town led her to a different conclusion. Overburdened pensions and bankruptcy loomed on the horizon for the company. Then the accident came. Ryan was the superintendent on shift. Rather than risk sending all of his men down into a shaft he suspected was having issues, he led a small crew himself to investigate. His suspicions had been correct and the roof from road No. 2 collapsed, instantly crushing the men. If not for Ryan, the loss of lives would have been much greater.

Knowing your husband was a hero didn't make the loss any easier to swallow. Four children without a father was tough on Nora. Four children and an ailing father were tougher. Nora did what she had to do to make ends meet from taking a job at the grocery store while the children were in school to spare weekends with a catering service in Scranton. Now her eldest, Geoff, was a year away from college and she was beginning to wonder how she could help put him through. She also secretly wondered how she would make it through once he was gone. Make no mistake, he would go. The boy was smart as a whip and a quick study. After the cave-in, Geoff stepped into his father's role with nary a thought of the childhood he was leaving behind. If she was running late, Geoff made sure the children ate. He helped round up the twins and get them bathed and in bed. Afterward, he'd hit the books until the wee hours of the morning. He was the sun and moon to little Una, her unexpected girl. Little did she know that Ryan had left her with something of himself. Una, born almost nine months to the day of the accident, had Ryan's piercing blue eyes and golden yellow hair.

Una was also the one thing that kept her father going and away from the drink. Once the mine closed, her father became an apparition of his former self. Late nights were spent drowning his sorrows in the drink. For a time she was jealous. It wasn't as if she didn't want to numb herself from the new reality life dealt her. All she had known was Ryan. She fully expected to watch her children grow up and grow old with him. Without him, she felt like a leaf blown around by the wind. The only thing keeping her grounded was her children and her father's decreasing state. Una reached him in a way no one else could. Not right away. When Una was just a blob, sleeping and pooping, her father showed no interest. It was when Una reached out and grabbed her father's thumb for the first time, that was when she had him. In a way, Una grabbed his soul and wretched it back from whatever demon had commandeered it. Now Nora's father was back among the living and about to start a new job.

A company interested in fracking hired him to help them navigate the old mining tunnels surrounding the town. Her father didn't say too much about the position. He wasn't much of a talker. Nora knew that her father had a better working knowledge of the Carbondale mines than anyone else alive. He had grown up in those mines and witnessed as they claimed too many of his friends. He made it his business to know every nook and cranny. That knowledge was about to pay off for all of them. A steady paycheck was exactly what her father needed to regain some of his self-worth. It would also help the family financially and it was Nora's hope that Geoff would gain the most.

"God speed." Nora kissed the top of her father's head as she shuffled out of the room to take a shower before the children woke. Duncan gripped her wrist for a moment before releasing her to the day. He slumped back into the chair, the tea growing cold before him. He didn't have the stomach for her kindness. He kept telling himself it was the right thing to do. Anyone would make his choice. He knew the fact he needed convincing was all there was to say. Standing up, resigned, he steeled himself for his first day on the job. He patted down his pockets, relieved to find that the badge he needed to gain access to the job site was safely tucked away in his front hip pocket. It had his name, picture, and a strange snake emblem he'd only seen in the newspapers a few times. It wouldn't be that bad. He closed the door behind him. It wouldn't be that bad.


	18. Taking Tips from the Gallery Gang

**Chapter 18: Taking Tips from the Gallery Gang **

**11:15 a.m.**

**Somewhere outside Carbondale, PA**

"Ok, remember, this one stays with you at all times." J.T. held up a small metal-looking button. "I don't care if the Dali Lama himself is down there, bound and gagged, being tortured, and we'll never find him unless you put this sensor on him. This stays on your body and your body alone. Got it?"

"Yes Sir!" Lady Jaye saluted him sharply, clicking her heels together for full effect.

"And this one is the spare."

"Spare?"

"Milady, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice? I don't think so. I imagine you're going to find the Dali Lama and, despite my orders, you're going to want to tag him. I accept your insubordinate ways. Therefore, this one's for tagging. You see something, you stick it with this. I won't run a trace on it until you press this part in, see, just like that." J.T. demonstrated how Lady Jaye could push in the top of the sensor when she attached it to something. "When you set this one off, that will also let me know when to signal the squad, ok?"

"Roger that."

J.T. then glanced around. "Not to get too personal with you milady, but in case the bad guys are looking, we need to put this in a safe spot." He held up the sensor that was designated for her. "I was thinking inside your bra probably works best." He caught himself, "I'm assuming you have one of those?"

Jaye laughed aloud, "Yes, I have one of those. Here, hand it over." She motioned for him to give it to her. "Wait, hold on, you keep that for a second." She started to unbutton her shirt."

J.T. turned his head and held his hands out in front of his face. "Whoa there milady, slow down. The missus would have my hide if I'm checking out another lady's unmentionables. She doesn't take too kindly to that sort of thing."

Lady Jaye stopped midbutton, "I'm going to need some help."

"Well then I'll send one of your boys over." J.T. backed away, eyes clenched shut. "The missus doesn't care what they do." He disappeared into the brush where the strike team was assembling. Finding Flint, he pulled the man over and whispered in his ear. "Listen, the lady needs some help with getting her sensor on. I want that thing completely inaccessible to her or she's going to put it on the Dali Lama as a backup." J.T. thumbed over to where Lady Jaye was getting ready. "Can you help me out? I'll give y'all a little privacy." He handed the sensor over to Flint.

Flint wasn't sure what the Dali Lama had to do with anything so he merely shrugged, thankful for an extra moment alone with her. Pushing his way through the brush, he found her, arms folded across her chest, foot impatiently tapping on the ground.

"J.T. doesn't trust you."

"What gave you that idea?"

Flint held up the sensor. "I'm supposed to put this where the sun doesn't shine."

Lady Jaye's eyes flew wide open, "What? That man is crazy."

"Not like that." Flint pocketed the sensor and approached her, moving her arms to her side, he began to undo her shirt buttons. He gave her a patented lopsided smile, "Like this." His hands slowly worked their way down until the last button was detached from the corresponding panel of fabric and her shirt hung open, exposing a white tank top underneath. Flint couldn't hide his disappointment.

"Expecting something else?"

"You could say that."

Lady Jaye pulled her shirt off her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the ground. Next she reached down and pulled the tank top up and over her head, allowing it to join her shirt. She stood there before Flint with her sports bra exposed. "Was this more of what you had in mind?"

Flint leaned in, nuzzling her neck and tracing the fingers of his right hand down to her cleavage. "I pictured something a little more delicate, but this will do."

Lady Jaye felt herself give in to Flint's advances, thinking back to the night before when Flint had been good, very good. Flint moved his fingers over the bra's cup and she let out an unexpected gasp. "Oh!" Flint reached behind her, pulling her into his body, his hand creeping down. His gentle squeeze of her backside brought her around. "Dash . . ." Her voice came out in little bursts of air. "Dash . . . they're . . . just behind . . . us . . ."

He rested a moment, head buried in her neck, taking in the subtle scent of berries lingering in her hair. It was his favorite. She had tried to switch shampoos several times during their partnership. He didn't know what her original shampoo was; he just knew that it smelled like her. Whenever she tried out something new, it threw his nose out of whack. It wasn't the same. Therefore, every time she made a switch, even though he could see no discernible difference as to how the switch impacted her hair, he made sure that Cover Girl made some negative remark to plant the seeds of doubt in her mind. Lord knew he couldn't do that. If he told her that her hair looked especially frizzy, he'd end up with a right hook to his face. Better to let Cover Girl fight in the trenches. Cover Girl was more than willing to help out. Flint chalked up his partnership with Cover Girl as a harmless little white lie. "I know, discrete. I promised."

Flint released his hold of her. "Ok, J.T. said you can't be able to reach this thing." He tucked his desires away and examined her with a critical eye. "We don't want them to find it either." He focused in on every part of her front. The way the sensor attached, he believed it would be obvious to someone looking for it.

"Um, Flint? I'm starting to feel like a piece of meat."

"You are." He shook his head. "Not like that. You will be a piece of meat to them. They won't show any mercy. I'm not giving them an excuse." He brought his hand up to his chin, cupping it in thought. "Here, turn around."

Jaye followed his order. She trusted him implicitly. If anyone could get her in and out, it was him.

Flint studied her back. He hated to admit it to himself, but attaching it to her outer layer of clothing was out of the question. He didn't put anything past Cobra and no matter how infinitesimal the chance, it still remained that something could happen to her that could separate her from those garments. He clenched his fists together. He would kill them, all of them. He pushed away that thought. The sensor wouldn't stay on her skin. Secondary layer was the best—underwear or bra—the choice was his. "What's the situation with the skivvies?"

"Standard issue courtesy of Uncle Sam."

That wasn't going to work. Flint palmed the little silver sensor. The task was turning out to be more difficult than he thought. No wonder J.T. had punted. "I'm coming up behind you and I'm going to touch your bra. I won't take it off. Just looking."

Lady Jaye let out the breath she had been holding. Even though Flint wasn't really seeing her, it felt strangely erotic to have him right behind her, having such an intimate familiarity with him now. She sucked in her lips, thinking of anything to keep her on the straight and narrow. _Harry Truman naked, Harry Truman naked_. Damn, it wasn't working. There was only one person she could picture naked. Working with Flint was a blessing and a curse. That she got to even work with him was the blessing, that she wanted him was the curse. She felt the release of pressure against her skin as Flint started undoing the hooks of her bra. _Harry Truman naked_. Nothing. Small beads of perspiration formed on her forehead. _Keep it in check Alison, you're a professional_.

"Hey, can I join in?"

Shipwreck's query snapped her out of her daze. She glanced over her shoulder, "What are you doing? Haven't you heard of a little privacy?"

Shipwreck held up his hands. "Privacy and Joes? Are you kidding? That's a good one."

"Cut it out." Flint motioned Shipwreck over. "Actually, I need your help. See here?" Jaye strained her neck trying to see what they were doing.

"Front and center Jaye. I can't see what I'm doing." Flint snapped back. Begrudgingly, she obeyed, feeling even more like a doll on display.

"Now hold right here." Flint issued his commands with a take no prisoners tone. "Hold that up here and then, see, like this." Flint stepped back surveying his work. "That will do just fine."

"What will do just fine?"

"The less you know, the less they'll be able to get out of you."

"Man, that's heavy." Shipwreck maintained his grip on Jaye's bra.

"You can let go now Ship." Flint placed a reminding hand on the sailor's shoulder.

Shipwreck let go and the bra snapped back into Lady Jaye's back. "Owww!"

"Need anything else? Otherwise, just wanted to let you know that Mainframe's ready."

"No, this should be it." Flint was satisfied with his work while Lay Jaye wondered what he had even done.

Giving them a thumbs up, Shipwreck ducked out before he could be roped into any more tasks. Mainframe had wanted to go over and talk to Flint. Shipwreck made short work of that request. No one was interfering with his long game strategy. He was so close to winning Ace's pool he could taste the Cuban contraband cigar that was to accompany the winnings. Flint with his hands all up in Jaye's under things? Licking his lips, the sweet Cuban tobacco taste filled his mouth. It was going to be a sweet victory indeed.

Jaye finished putting her shirt on and Flint helped dust her off. He had her do a slow circle one last time. When she had finished, he grabbed her by the shoulders and planted a hurried kiss on her lips. "Listen to J.T. Be careful. Do not play hero. Understand?" He gripped her tighter.

"I understand." Something was bothering her though. She was going to keep it inside, but that's what had gotten them into their mess in the first place. _Out with it_. "Flint?" He tilted his head. "You think I can do this, right?"

"Why would you ask?"

"Well, hiding the sensor, being careful, listening to J.T. That's kind of the advice you'd give a rookie. You'd never say that before."

"Alison, there's no one who can do this better. No one. I never had so much to lose. Just come back."

"I will." She smiled. "Let's do this."


	19. Steady as She Goes

**Chapter 19: Steady as She Goes**

**11:47 a.m.**

**Somewhere outside Carbondale, PA**

"Now why do you get some fancy name and I have to be Hill?" J.T. parked the rental pick-up truck in front of what they had narrowed down to be the most likely site for Cobra's operations. He was dressed in khakis and a short-sleeved brown button-down with "U.S. Department of Energy" embroidered on the pocket. Sitting next to him in the passenger seat, Lady Jaye wore a similar outfit. Each had DOE lanyards around their necks and official-looking badges tucked in their back pockets. Patterson, true to his word, had provided them with very realistic covers.

"Because I've done this before and you haven't. The best cover is sticking with what you know." She looked over at J.T. "What would you propose?"

J.T. grinned, "Nolan, Mr. Nolan."

"Nolan?"

"Yep. Nolan. Greatest pitcher ever to don an Astros uniform."

"Fine, Nolan it is."

"Just like that?" J.T. broke out into a big grin, feeling unexpectedly triumphant in getting his way.

"Just like that." Jaye reached behind her seat and pulled out a messenger bag with "DOE" embroidered on the side. Rummaging through the bag, she paused for a moment. "Nolan, did you pack the clipboards?" J.T., who was busy running a last minute check on the GPS system, paid no attention.

She tried again, "Nolan?" Still no response.

"Hill."

"Yesmm?"

She leaned back into the seat. "And that's why you're Hill."

J.T.'s face remained blank.

"I called you twice. You didn't even hear it because it's not natural to you. If you're going to take a cover, it has to be second nature. You blow it the first time you don't respond. We didn't have the time to practice, so we stick with what you know, Hill. There's no shame in it. I've been doing covert ops a lot longer."

"I know—I never get to do this stuff." He shrugged his shoulders. "Kind of wanted to have a little fun."

Lady Jaye poked him in the shoulder, "Come on, these shirts are the epitome of fun."

J.T. let out a mock chuckle. "If you say so." He grabbed a similar-styled messenger bag and handed a clipboard over to Jaye. "Once you go in, I'll have everything up and running in the back." He then passed her a small rock. "Put this in your pocket. When it starts to heat up down there, just drop it wherever you are. It'll go off. When I get the signal, that's when the strike team will start moving in."

"Nice." Jaye put it in her pocket. "Any last questions?"

"Nope. Let's saddle up."

Exiting the truck, they walked down a dirt road approaching an open gate. Surrounding the perimeter was a twelve-foot steel chain link fence. As an added precaution, the top was wrapped with another six inches of barbed wire. Inside the gate, various crates were stacked in groups and equipment lay strewn about the worksite, discarded. It wasn't bustling by any means and Jaye couldn't help feeling that there was definitely something sinister a foot. To the right of the dirt road just past the fence was a corrugated metal shack. A few larger brick buildings lay beyond. To their left, a wooden structure on stilts appeared to be attached to the mountain by crazy glue. Underneath it were two sets of railroad tracks. Empty hopper cars parked on the tracks looked like they hadn't been touched in ages. Jutting from the top of the wooden building was a metal framed apparatus, two wheels on top with thick cords wrapped around spindles dropping down the middle, disappearing into the structure.

J.T. pointed up, "That's probably the shaft elevator. We need to get you in there."

As they approached the nearest shack, a medium-sized man with slicked-back brown hair emerged, shielding his eyes from the light. He was wearing a denim work shirt with a badge affixed to its front pocket. There was some logo underneath it. He was chewing on a toothpick out of the side of his mouth. "Can I help you?"

"I sure hope so." J.T. stepped forward. "I'm Hill and this is Anderson with DOE. We're here for the safety inspection."

The man looked at them with a blank stare. "I'm sorry? Did you say safety inspection?"

"That would be correct."

The man took a step back, eyes darting around, looking for something. "I'm sorry, but I wasn't told about any safety inspection. You're not on the log. You're going to have to come back after you've been cleared."

J.T. took a step forward, pressing his advantage. "That's the thing about safety inspections, if y'all had advance notice, I don't know what we'd be inspecting, catch my drift?"

The man started to back track. "Well, a bit. It's just we haven't been up and running all that long. I really need you to clear your visit with management. It's probably best if you came back at a later time."

J.T. turned to Jaye, "Can you believe this guy?" He put his attention back on the man. "I don't care if you've been open two hours or two hundred years. When you come up on our list, you're up. I understand if you need to call someone with authority to assist us. But I can tell you right now we're not leaving until I get my samples and she checks your equipment. If you'd like to accompany us, you're more than welcome. You know this place better than we do."

The man scratched at his forehead. It reminded Jaye of Flint's nervous tic. His eyes resumed their fast scrawl across the landscape. He was looking for someone to come and bail him out. After the third pass over their heads, the man's eyes popped and settled back down. Glancing behind her shoulder, sure enough Jaye saw a man from one of the brick buildings walk over. He was wearing a hard hat and the same denim shirt. Lady Jaye could make out the logo on the pocket now, SMMC. J.T. rubbed a spot just behind his ear. Bingo, he had noticed it as well.

"Ray, what's going on?"

"Charles, these guys say they're here to do a safety inspection?"

Charles rubbed his chin. "Is that so? Can I see your identification?"

"Gladly." J.T. pulled his badge out of his back pocket and handed it over to Charles, as did Jaye.

Charles studied them closely, scanning both for some abnormality only he could decipher. Jaye knew he'd done this before. Maybe at one point he'd been legit, possibly. He had to be working for Cobra now. "Alright then." Charles handed them back. "DOE never likes to play fair. I can take you around topside and then we can go below."

"Actually," J.T. spoke up, "We'd like to speed it up a bit and have enough time to check one more site off the list today. If you wouldn't mind showing me around so I can get some samples," he patted at his messenger bag, "and somebody takes her down so she could check the elevator and shaft," J.T. made a show of looking around, "we'd appreciate it. Really appreciate it."

Charles narrowed his eyes, "Hmmmm." A slight smile broke through his lips. "I think I see. You'd appreciate it?"

"Yesmm. Just doing our job. If there's nothing to report, there's nothing to report." J.T. shrugged his shoulders. "From what I can see standing here, nothing appears amiss. Be great if that was the case."

Lady Jaye had to bite the side of her mouth to keep from smiling. J.T. was doing a fantastic job. With a bit more time, he'd be a natural.

Charles held out his hand. "Hill is it? I think everything can be arranged." The men shook hands. "I'll take you around here and Ray can take Anderson?" Jaye nodded her head. "Right, Miss, Ray will take you to check out the elevator. I assume that's all you'll need?"

J.T. flashed a big, bold, disarming smile. "That'll do just fine."

* * *

Hidden up in the mountains surrounding the mine, Flint and the strike team observed the action below. Call him paranoid, but there was something amiss about the hard hat. Flint was picking up all sorts of bad vibes from the man. After the handshake, Flint watched as the pair split up with J.T. and the hard hat going right and Jaye and the other man heading left. "Shipwreck, keep alert."

Shipwreck, binoculars plugged to his eyes replied out of the side of his mouth. "Aye aye captain. I'm on it. No one messes with my lady. Although, if I have to rescue her do you think I'd stand a better chance at getting a date?"

"Doubtful." Flint raised his binoculars and continued his watch. It pained him to send her straight into Cobra armed with nothing more than a fancy rock and a hidden tracer. She was right though; it was her job. Still, he didn't have to like it. He liked it even less when he felt his suspicions were confirmed. The man assigned to Jaye led her into the building's entranceway and left her waiting while he went around to the side of the wooden structure. Once he was out of her sight, he pulled a communicator out of his pocket and held it up to his mouth, blocking Flint's ability to read his lips. As the man spoke, he scanned the surrounding mountainside, looking for something, most likely them. Flint reached down for his gun. He could make the shot from here. He didn't always need Lowlight.

Shipwreck placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't do it boss man. You do, they're dead. We knew she wasn't going to go waltzing in there with a little song and dance. Let it play out, no matter how hard."

Flint closed his eyes, nodding his head in reluctant agreement. He continued to monitor the man until he and Jaye disappeared from sight, swallowed by the mine. J.T. was circling the site, pretending to take notes. In actuality, he was taking pictures with the camera hidden in his clipboard. Even as Flint watched, those pictures were being transmitted to Mainframe and the secondary team assembled in Scranton.

"Nothing yet." Mainframe's voice buzzed in his ear. Flint leaned against a boulder and slid down to the ground, his elbow on his knee, rubbing his forehead. _What did I just do?_, he chided himself. He clenched his fist and struck out at the ground, grimacing from the sudden jolt of pain. He stifled a moan and announced, "Well boys, we wait."

And wait they did. J.T. seemed to be taking his own time setting up the transmitter receivers in the back of the pick-up truck under the guise of running test samples. Everything hinged on the signal from J.T. Flint hated this waiting; this feeling of uselessness. Minutes seemed like hours. The half hour that had passed was an eternity. _Come on Jaye, give him a sign, something_. Flint stretched his legs out in front of him, easing out the knots in his muscles. Mainframe was busy on his computer, prepared to lock in on J.T.'s information. Agent Miller was chatting with the rest of the squad in Scranton, relaying the real-time information and coordinating strategy. Shipwreck sat next to Flint, gun in his hand, ready to spring into action.

"Don't worry boss man, we'll get her out."

"I know." Flint wasn't much in the mood for idle chitchat.

"You really care about our lady don't you." Shipwreck wasn't asking a question.

"Same as I care for all my men." He starred straight ahead, knowing the slightest look could give his true feelings away.

"Nah, you wouldn't mind if I was made into Shipwreck flambé, but I think you would mind if she was. It's cool. I don't mind the competition."

Flint laughed. "Seriously, I admire her. I think she's a good solider, nothing more."

"Right, that and I have a bridge to sell you. It's in Brooklyn." Shipwreck elbowed Flint in the arm. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Just help a sailor out and hold off on the hanky panky for another two days. Then, Ace's pool is all mine. I'll even give you some of my winnings."

Flint turned to Shipwreck in disbelief, "Ace has a pool?"

"Oh yeah, surprised you haven't placed a bet. I don't think there's anything in the rules against it. I alone am the sole better in the Shipwreck-Cover Girl pool. Your pool started right after you guys got back from Scotland. Rumor has it you were none too pleased when a certain chrome dome made a play for Jaye. Duke placed his bet for one month after that. We all figured he had the inside track so there wasn't too much action. After that month passed . . ."

"Wait, did you say Duke is in on it?"

"In on it? Hell, he practically started it."

"Duke? Duke started it."

"Well, not started it. Only Ace can open up an official line. Duke, however, was the first to put his money where his mouth is. And, like I said, we all assumed he had the inside scoop. Ace did not give him great odds."

"Duke bet on me."

"Have I been talking to a rock all this time? Not on you. On you and Jaye and some PDA."

"PDA?"

"You know, public display of affection. One public kiss in two days and I win big."

Flint slumped against the rock. He was well aware that Ace had a tendency to get his fellow Joes to bet on all sorts of things. He just never figured it would get as personal as betting on Jaye and him. So much for his vow to be discrete.

Shipwreck patted Flint on the shoulder. "I wouldn't take it too hard. The boys just like to have some fun. Hawk's been the only one to lay odds on a Beach Head-Cover Girl matchup."

"Hawk?" Flint was flabbergasted. The general was involved in this?

"I know, Hawk betting against me. We'll see about that."

"I can't believe it. What are the stakes exact . . ."

Flint was interrupted by a jubilant Mainframe. "Cut the chatter guys, J.T.'s got the signal."

Feelings of relief washed over Flint, finally some positive news. Shipwreck noted the sudden change in his commander and wished at that moment he was Wild Bill. Lucky guy was down for today.

Flint stood up, checking his equipment. "Ok, you know the drill. Mainframe, you have lead with the map and I'll cover behind you."

Mainframe nodded while he adjusted a pair of clear glasses under his helmet. In addition to the GPS unit, Joseph had provided him with a pair of glasses that would lay out J.T.'s map on a monitor built into the glass of the right lens. It was almost like the Ace's drop down screen but better. He didn't need a helmet and to the outside world, it looked like he was wearing a pair of normal prescription glasses. When the team was down in the tunnels, Mainframe would also see a superimposed path devised by J.T. He felt like a Tron game come to life. Joseph had all the cool toys and he was finally getting to field test them.

"Miller, you're up next and Shipwreck will take rear. Stay tight. Keep your aim focused. Short bursts only. I don't know what they'll be sporting down there, but we can't take any chances. One stray blast and you can set off a fire or a collapse. We have one chance at this and we need to do it right. Jaye is counting on us. Our country depends on us. What happened in DC isn't happening again. Yo Joe!"

"Yo Joe!" The men shouted, even Agent Miller.

Flint led the team to an abandoned air vent that, fingers crossed, would meet up with the main mine. Climbing in, they rappelled down the shaft. Mainframe led the group through a series of twists and turns, one eye on his glass monitor at all times. It took some getting used to the different perspectives. Physically in front of him, all he saw was the blackness of the vent shaft running parallel to the mine tunnel. If he closed his left eye, the glass over his right eye projected a series of green lines representing the path they needed to take. Matching the reality with the glasses caused some fits and bumps to their smooth progress. Flint was unusually patient with the techie. Mainframe knew Jaye had something to do with it. Although she remained mum on the topic whenever Ripcord brought it up, he knew there was something there. He was ok with it; it was Ripcord that had to adjust. Poor Ripcord.

Mainframe soon got the hang of it and led the team to the end of the main air shaft. From that point it branched off in two different directions. He listened to a few words from J.T. and then turned to Flint. "J.T. says the air ducts narrow and split up from here. We have to jump down and take the tunnels. He's pinpointed Jaye's route and thinks he can get us around it. Oh, he also thinks Ray is starting to suspect something."

Flint nodded. He had hoped for more time before J.T. drew any suspicions. Let's face it, a 6 foot five Texan wasn't exactly going to blend into the background. Hopefully J.T. could hold his own until they got close enough. Would they ever get close enough? No. He was stopping right there. This was a mission plain and simple. If there was one thing he did, it was execute missions and bring people home. Jaye was coming home, no ifs, ands, or buts.

Miller worked off the vent cover and each man dropped down into the tunnel below. Flint stretched his arms; it felt good to not have to crawl anymore. Once they were assembled, Mainframe led them with Flint right on his heels, ready to protect him at all costs. Flint began to get that tingly sense he often did when something was off. He held up his hand, halting the group. He closed his eyes, focusing in on the sound, footsteps, three distinct steps. He held up three fingers and then his flashed his palm twice. This wasn't going to be easy.

A/N: Just a quick thanks for everyone who has taken the time to read. This started out as a much shorter story, I swear it did. In its nanowrimo form, it ended here, chapter 19. With edits and additions, it's grown a wee bit. I've had fun fleshing out some of the characters, namely the twins. Originally Tomax only had a small part. As I went back over what I had written, he seemed to have more to say. So thank you again for allowing me this indulgence. Hope you enjoy as I near the end.


	20. I Took Note

**Chapter 20: I Took Note**

**12:00 p.m.**

**Somewhere outside Carbondale, PA**

Ray latched the steel curtain door on the elevator and put all his weight into pulling the lever that started the elevator's descent. Protesting against its work, the elevator jerked and bumped on its way down the shaft. Just when Lady Jaye thought her stomach couldn't stand anymore, the elevator issued a collective sigh and slowly eased into its normal operation. It wasn't much of an elevator—just a steel cage raised and lowered by thick cables. Staring straight ahead Lady Jaye made every effort to not look down into the approaching abyss. Keeping her eyes focused on the door, she watched the changes in the earth's stratum as they were lowered down. It reminded her in a way of Persephone kidnapped and dragged into the underworld. While Jaye was a willing participant in this venture, she had a brief moment of fear that something would happen and she would be trapped here forever, never to see the sun again.

The elevator shuddered to a stop, not quite even with the ground. Ray pushed and pulled on the lever trying to ease the cage into its base. It balked against his command. Ray reached over and unlatched the door. "Here, you get off. I'll try to fix this thing." He wiped away the beads of perspiration that had popped up on his forehead with a handkerchief he pulled out of his back pocket.

"Thanks." She grabbed the hand he extended to assist her. It was cold and clammy, barely making solid contact with her own. If she didn't know before, she knew now, something was up. In training, cold, clammy hands were usually a telltale sign that someone was trying to hide something. Looking around as she stepped out of the cage, Ray was trying to hide Cobra. No way no how were there any mining activities being conducted here. There were no people, no equipment, nada. The area surrounding the elevator was dark and silent. _Too silent_, her mind echoed. According to the team's research, this place should be hopping. Something definitely wasn't right. _Stay sharp Jaye_, she reminded herself. If this was indeed Cobra, it wasn't trying very hard. She expected that there would be some kind of front operation. Maybe Cobra didn't have time to set it up. That would explain Ray's reluctance to let them on the job site in the first place.

She started to circle the elevator shaft figuring that she might as well make it look like she was doing her "job." Frankly, she had no idea what she should be doing. The team didn't have the time to get into those kinds of details. She reached out and patted the steel lattice enclosing the elevator and ducked as chunks of rust rained down on her head. _That wasn't a smart idea_. Shaking her head, she shielded her eyes as she looked up toward the top. Not one bit of sunshine was coming in. Shuddering, she didn't want to think about how far down they were. Heights were still heights no matter if above or below. A long way to fall was going to be a long way to fall.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt her center give way and her body was slammed up against the elevator shaft. The rusty steel cut into her cheek and she spit little flakes out of her mouth. Ray leaned into her ear. "Now tell me sweetheart what you're really doing here. Who sent you?" His breathing was hard and fast, with an underlying need. His words rolled down her shoulder and gathered at her feet. She felt dirty and knew he was in this for more than a dollar. Ray yanked her back and slammed her into the shaft again with his body. His left hand began to do some exploring of its own, working its way down her arm and around to her front, pausing at all the wrong spots. "Who sent you? I can make this easy," he licked the back of her neck, "or hard." His laughter reverberated in her head and she went on autopilot.

Sometime after the Pit invasion, Flint took it upon himself to work on beefing up her hand-to hand skills. It was an unspoken understanding that if they were going to be paired up, they should instinctively know the other's style. If Flint was going to block left, then she needed to be able to cover his right. Besides, she had told him straight up that she didn't think she could run off and leave him again. Not if he was going to get himself killed, which he was clearly trying to do. While he disagreed that he was trying to get himself killed, he did agree that they should work more on their training together.

After a few days of sparring, Flint had challenged her to open up. She was too reserved and it was coming out in her fighting, or lack thereof. She tried a takedown and he'd snuck up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and bringing her to the ground, the weight of his body grounding hers. She attempted the various releases practiced in their usual training sessions, but Flint was playing dirty. She wouldn't respond in kind until Flint spun her around, his body pressing hers into the mat, holding her down by the wrists. His face was inches from hers. But it was his words that stayed with her and the fear in his eyes. It was especially his eyes; they chilled her to the bone, this glimpse into his savage being. He was her warrior poet gone dark. _You do whatever you have to do to get away. Don't try to be textbook. Don't try to look smart. Just get away. Hit them where it hurts and keep hitting. Be dirty. That's what they'll do to you if you don't get away. Don't worry about what any of us think. Just know I want you to get away. Always aim to get away._

He released her and she scampered away, turning to face him, nodding her head once. He went after her again and she let loose. After it was over, they were bloodied, bruised, and tired. Neither had the strength to do anything but sprawl out on the mat, exposed underneath the florescent lights. She looked over at him, and he smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand. _Do it just like that and you'll be fine_. He rolled over, a lopsided smile forming on his face right after his grimace of pain. _Let's just hope we can still have kids_. He winked and she laughed at the joke.

It wasn't a joke now. She threw her head back, butting Ray right in the nose. His eyes watered and he lost his grip. She swung her right arm back and up connecting solidly with his chin. Ray released his hold on her, stumbling a few steps while trying to regain his balance. She kept coming, no longer caring if she was whipping out moves no DOE safety inspector would ever know. Using the momentum of her body as she pivoted around, the full force of her weight was behind her left fist as it sailed into Ray's throat. His hands instinctively went up, stunned, he dropped his protective stance. She took advantage and hit him with a soft right hook into his head followed by a solid left kick where it would hurt. She wasn't going to be a piece of meat. He simply wasn't prepared and dropped to the ground, writhing in pain. He shouted a few choice words about her parentage between his howls of pain. Jaye couldn't hear them through the blood pounding in her temples and the red swarming before her eyes. The situation had just gotten serious and she knew she had to be close. Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed the rock and tossed it to the side, hoping that J.T. would pick up the signal and send Flint and the boys in. She kicked at Ray's arm as he tried to reach into his pocket. "Who do you work for?," she screamed at him. "What are you doing down here?"

He snarled at her, spitting out the blood pooling in his mouth. Then he just smiled. It was an evil taunting grin that Lady Jaye wanted to wipe off of his face. She didn't get the chance. Behind her a man with a hardhat and dark goggles made a solid connection with the blunt end of his rifle and her head. She fell down to the ground, dazed. She reached up, feeling the welt that was forming. Her hand came back wet with her blood. Her brain felt like wobbly jello. She tried to push herself up, but she was too late. The man came behind her and squeezed right between her neck and shoulder. She went out like a light. The man reached down to help Ray up.

Ray stood up, spitting out more blood and wiping the dirt off of his face. "'Bout time you showed up." Ray had suddenly lapsed into an Australian accent.

"Sorry Ripper." The soldier removed the hardhat and goggles, shaking out a blonde ponytail. "Hard to see in these things." One could hear the faint amalgamated British and Australian accents dueling in his words.

"Never mind that Buzzer." Ray/Ripper looked down at Lady Jaye in disgust. He kicked her once in the midsection. "Come on and grab her. She's got some explaining to do."

"Yes Sir." Buzzer laughed, hauling Jaye up under her arms and tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

**12:20 p.m.**

**Extensive Enterprises, 200 Park Avenue, New York City**

There was no mistaking it; he had crossed wires with the Joe. Tomax sat at his desk, head buried in his hands. He rubbed his eyes, trying to erase the random images that flooded his brain. Darkness and falling, rocks and rust. None of it made any sense. She was in trouble, that much he could discern. Otherwise, he was picking up fragments of her mind. He didn't know why this happened or how he could do it, only that he could. Most assumed the twins were an anomaly unto themselves. It didn't quite work that way. Ever since Tomax could remember, he could pick up on the emotions and thoughts of others while Xamot had a knack for projecting his. Together, they fed off of each other or did what Tomax considered to be crossing wires. It was why he could feel when Xamot was hurt or vice versa. Every so often though, someone stumbled into the mix. Once upon a time it was Michelle. That had been a good crossing. Now it was the pretty little Joe. This was a bad crossing. Soon, Xamot would learn and he'd try to test the durability of Tomax's connection through his own means.

The twins once had a shy secretary, Katie. She was a cute little thing who blushed a lot when she mixed up Tomax and Xamot. Tomax thought it charming; Xamot was annoyed. Regardless, she was very good at her job and could do the work of three personal assistants. Tomax was thankful everyday they had her. Except one day they didn't. She committed suicide. It happened without warning. He was stunned. He searched his brain, replaying interactions with her, looking for a sign. It had been a bad few weeks for him. He had felt sad and alone. Sometimes he thought it would be nice to have an extended family. He wondered what life with Michelle could have been like had it worked out. Would he be arriving home on the 5:45, kids jumping on him before he even got his key in the door? Then it hit him, Xamot. Tomax barged into Xamot's office.

Xamot was waiting. "I'm sorry brother, I couldn't help myself. She was in love with the wrong brother. It tore her apart."

What could Tomax say? He was living Xamot's grief. Tomax took Xamot into his arms and rocked him to sleep that night. The incident was never mentioned again. But now? He couldn't let something like that be the pretty little Joe's fate. Funny how he thought of her as the pretty little Joe. She kind of reminded him of Katie.

Tomax pushed away from his desk and began pacing in front of the window, scratching at his forehead, a recent trait. She didn't do that did she? Michelle, he could only chalk it up to Michelle. His quest had become the Joe's quest and that was enough to bind them. They had to see it through to the end. That was usually how these things played out.

He went back to his desk and placed a call.

"I'm sorry Mr. Paoli. The laird is away from the office today. He had a personal matter to attend. I can try to have him paged if this is an emergency." The secretary's voice was bright and chirpy.

Tomax smiled. "No, that's fine Sorcha. I'll try to reach him tomorrow. No emergency."

Next he placed a call to Sarah. She answered on the first ring. "Tom, any news?"

"How's she doing?"

"Same. The doctor says the coma is just her body's way of preserving itself. I feel . . ."

"Don't worry Sarah. I promise you, soon, very soon, this will end." He hung up the phone confident that at least on that matter he was right.


	21. Dismantling Summer

**Chapter 21: Dismantling Summer**

**12:45 p.m.**

**Somewhere outside Carbondale, PA**

Mainframe led the strike team through a maze of tunnels, honing in on Lady Jaye's signal. She had been on the move and J.T. was doing his best to keep the team close to her and out of sight. It resulted in some dead ends and too much backtracking for Flint's comfort. The longer they took to get to her, the more things that could go wrong. He didn't want to think about the things that could go wrong, yet that was exactly where his mind was taking him.

It was simple enough to imagine the worst outcome, death. Every Joe knew it was a possibility and chose to ignore it, case closed. It was those things in between—those things that some would even consider worse than death—that haunted the dreams of his teammates and him. For Flint, it was always personal. The one thing that could go wrong for him was that he would be the cause of something terrible for someone else. This mission was putting his fear front and center. He was in charge. He gave the order. He put her in harm's way. Anything that happened flowed directly from his command. If Cobra went off the deep end because it felt cornered and trapped, she would be the one to take the brunt of its rage. It wouldn't be death. No, that would be too kind for Cobra. Cobra would skip over your body and aim straight for your soul. Cobra would try to turn her. That would be the only thing it could salvage from a defeat. He could imagine it all too clearly. With a twisted mind like Dr. Mindbender at work, he could think of nothing worse. Cobra would hit two Joes, Jaye and him. His stomach revolted at the thought of seeing her act as someone else. Not when he finally knew her as he did now. To have shared what they did—death would almost be welcome. _Come on Faireborn, shake it off_. He tilted his head back and forth while moving his shoulders, attempting to do just that. The tunnels were starting to make him claustrophobic. He tapped Mainframe on the shoulder. "How we doing?"

Mainframe touched the side of his glasses a few times, widening the screen. "Well, we're close. It looks like she's stationary." Mainframe lowered his voice, speaking to J.T., "Status?"

J.T. flashed a message across the monitor Mainframe sported on a wrist band, another gift from Joseph. The techie nodded once. "Roger that."

He turned back to Flint. "J.T. confirmed she's been static for a few minutes. He's plotting a path that will get us close. It might start to get interesting."

Interesting. Flint didn't like the sound of that. Thus far, things had been very uninteresting. With the exception of the one near-miss, the strike team hadn't encountered anyone else. It all added to Flint's unease with the situation. Cobra wasn't even trying to put on a legitimate front. If it wasn't trying, that meant it had no intention of staying. With no intention of staying, the team would have to hit fast and hard. If they missed their opportunity to take it down, Cobra would no doubt torch the place, and maybe—yes there was that little maybe tucked away in the back of his head—take Jaye with them. Not on his watch.

Flint pursed his lips together and motioned for Mainframe to keep going. Flint held up his right hand and motioned forward. Shipwreck and Agent Miller continued their march behind the two. Agent Miller's head spinning around like a bobble-head doll, afraid he'd miss something, and Shipwreck calmly taking up the rear. The team continued on in this fashion until they came to a branch in the tunnel. Mainframe clicked on his glasses a few times, face scrunched up in deep thought. Neither going forward nor splitting off to the left seemed viable. He didn't even want to glance behind him and give the bad news that they had to retrace their steps once more. He needed some J.T. input on this one. "J.T., which way?"

No reply.

"J.T.? Which way? Mainframe, out."

His ear bud was silent. A quick look back across his shoulder and he was staring straight into the intense glare of Flint. The man narrowed his gaze. Mainframe quickly turned his attention forward, reviewing the map. This wasn't good.

* * *

J.T. was in his element conducting the magnificent grand scale orchestra that was his surveillance system. Running simultaneously were the one tracker on Mainframe, his stand alone beacon, and the two trackers on Lady Jaye. He smiled, _and they said it couldn't be done. Oh it could be. Take that Agent Crawford_. Because not only was he running four separate tracers, he had them all tied into one receiver, which he managed to disguise as a soil and air sampler machine. _Don't get cocky J.T., this wasn't all you_. He begrudgingly acknowledged his conscience. J.T. always gave credit where credit was due. And this time a tip of the hat was due to Mainframe's buddy Joseph, who had supplied him with some of the necessary equipment. But the implementation was all his and he was going to relish returning back to Quantico and telling Crawford all about it. To think, Crawford thought he was more qualified to help out the Joes.

Mainframe's voice sounded in his ear. He typed out a reply. When they were planning out their methods of communication, J.T. figured it would be too suspicious if he started to talk out loud to no one. Better to keep his part silent. Thankfully, Joseph had a prototype wrist monitor that Mainframe could wear and receive text messages from J.T. J.T. couldn't wait to tell Crawford about that one. There were so many things he was going to rub in that man's face. _More qualified than him? Please._ But the truth of the matter was that J.T. probably should have been paying less attention to his future bragging to Crawford and more attention to his surroundings for he might have heard the slow crunch of gravel behind him and been more prepared when he felt the tell-tale pressure of a cylinder of steel between the T2 and T3 vertebrae of his spine.

"Tell me Mr. Hill, how is your sampling coming along?"

"Well Charles, it would be a lot better if you didn't have that thing stuck in my back."

"Mr. Hill, I don't think you're here to do a safety inspection."

"No?" J.T. slowly moved his hand to send out a distress call.

Charles jammed his gun into J.T.'s back, throwing his weight off. "Not so fast Mr. Hill, hands up where I can see them."

J.T. began to raise his hands up, but not before he brushed against the side of his tracking system, turning the receiver off, just in case. "All right, I'm raising 'em now, nice and slow. Not trying anything."

"An excellent decision Mr. Hill." Charles moved the gun, pressing it up against the back of J.T.'s head, a clear shot. "Now Mr. Hill, let's start this again. You're not here to do a safety inspection are you?"

* * *

Mainframe scanned the images projected on to the lens. He clicked out of the frame for an expansive shot. From what he could tell, if they stayed on their current path, they'd get close to Lady Jaye and probably would hook up with the main tunnel that led to the elevator shaft. If they veered left, that would circle them around Jaye's blinking signal, but it looked like the tunnel dead-ended and there wasn't another offshoot that he could make out. He really needed J.T. to decipher the maze of green lines on the screen. Mainframe inwardly sighed, he wasn't going to have that luxury.

"Um, Flint?"

"What?"

Mainframe grimaced at the harshness of Flint's response. "I lost contact with J.T."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. He just dropped out. I think there might be trouble on top."

Flint scratched at his forehead. More and more he was liking this mission less and less. "Did you lose the feed? Can you still get us close?"

"I think so."

"Then do it."

That left Mainframe with the choice. Forward or to the left? He zoomed out on the glasses, scanning the bits and traces of the map fed to him by J.T. He wished he could make the decision by committee. There was no worse feeling than having the team's progress solely dependent on his ability to figure out what J.T. had in mind. But that was what being a Joe was all about. If he wanted a simple life, he should have stayed in Silicon Valley. He wanted more and here it was, more. Squaring his shoulders he led the team straight, focusing in on the beeping dot that was Lady Jaye. _Hang in there Jaye, we're coming_.


	22. Front Row Seats to the End of the World

**Chapter 22: Front Row Seats to the End of the World**

**1:15 p.m.**

**Somewhere outside Carbondale, PA**

Keeping his eyes on his work, Duncan tried very hard to ignore the unconscious woman lying on the floor a few feet away from where he stood. She had been unceremoniously dumped to the ground by the Commander's two lackeys. The Commander, in no uncertain terms, had told Duncan to mind his own business, which was what he was trying to do. He was finding it difficult. It was like if someone told you to not think of a pink elephant. Sure enough, the first thing to pop into your head would be a pink elephant. Now that pink elephant was in the room and he couldn't ignore it.

He would ignore it though. He had no choice. Turning to his maps, Duncan continued his task of shading the mine tunnels to avoid and outlining forgotten entrances. He paused, chewing on the end of his pencil. Telling him to mind his own business was insulting. It was because he hadn't minded his own business for the past 46 years that his head held an encyclopedic memory of every last hole and tunnel scarring Carbondale's mountainsides. If he had minded his own business, the Commander would be sunk right now. Duncan spit out a bit of the chewed up wood. If he didn't mind his own business it was probably just as easy for that bald doctor to take his head off and find another way to retrieve its information. Then Nora wouldn't benefit. He tried to focus on that, Nora and the kids. He tried to focus on her working a little less and Geoff having a little more. He really tried to focus on little Una and all that she could have. He glanced over his shoulder at the pink elephant. Who was this girl? What were they going to do? The way the two—_dreadnoks was it?_—leered at her, the one with dark hair pulling at his pants, Duncan surmised that it wouldn't be good. Once the Commander was done with her, he'd probably pass her off to them for who knows what. Still, that might be better than what happened to some of the soldiers who volunteered to test the bald doctor's serum. Duncan could never remember that man's name. It was something unusual. They didn't look so good when they were carted out of the Commander's command center.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He just needed to mind his own business and get his work done. That was his only concern. He snuck another peek over his shoulder. The girl was starting to stir and the dark-haired man was almost dancing around her in anticipation. _Leave it be_. He turned his attention back to the map and shading in an area. But what if it was Nora? Or Una? What then? Would he want someone to just put their head down and do their job? He pressed down on the pencil, letting his anger and helplessness flow through his hand and into the lead. The pencil snapped with a loud crack. The Commander turned his head toward the sound and Duncan flung the broken pencil across the room. Duncan wagged an angry finger in the Commander's direction. "Now you've done it." He spat out the next words. "Women bring bad luck! They're never allowed in the mines. Get her out of here."

The Commander threw his head back, laughing heartily. "Mr. McDougall, I hired you to get my mine operational, not to counsel me in gender relations." The Commander dismissed Duncan's presence with a simple wave. "Leave these matters to me." Duncan walked away, muttering under his breath. He knew better than to take it any further. Fine, he had said his piece.

Buzzer and Ripper braced themselves for the expected onslaught from the Commander. If they had dared question the Commander's authority in such a brazen manner, they would expect only one thing. Surprisingly, the old miner walked away, his life intact. Ripper knew better then to venture that the Commander was going soft. No, he still needed that wacked codger for something. Once the Commander got what he needed? Bye-bye old man.

Cobra Commander approached Lady Jaye's unconscious figure and observed as she slowly came to. His eyes glistened a dark black against the blue hood shrouding his face—the only part of him not hidden from the world. He took a step back out of her line of sight. He wasn't ready to reveal himself yet.

Lady Jaye shook her head, opening and closing her eyes several times, trying to focus on the here and now. She couldn't recall where she was or how she got there. All she could see was white, the blinding white tiles on which her cheek rested and the smooth white metal consuming the wall in front of her. With more effort than she cared, she pushed herself up to sitting, reaching to the back of her head, gingerly touching the nasty bump that had formed. It felt like there was a vise gripping her head, squeezing tighter and tighter until everything would pop. To say every muscle in her body hurt would be an understatement. Her stomach grumbled, adding insult to injury. How on earth could she be hungry at a time like this? She blinked a few times trying to clear out the fog.

The Commander motioned Ripper and Buzzer, who stepped forward, grabbing her under the shoulders and hoisting her to her feet. She instinctively fought against them, still dazed. Ripper winked at Buzzer and they let go. Jaye's legs gave way beneath her and she crumbled to the floor. She looked up, the familiar face jogging her memory. "You were Ray?"

"In the flesh my little Sheila."

She glanced to her other side. "You?" Buzzer sneered. She felt her body sink. Dreadnoks, great. Ever since the Staten Island Expressway incident, she hated Dreadnoks. There were just so many of them yet they were all alike, brutes, every last one. And where there were Dreadnoks, Zartan couldn't be too far behind. That name was enough to throw her guard back up. She looked around the room cautiously, expecting Zartan to suddenly emerge from the shadows. Cobra certainly hadn't done things cheap. The Dreadnoks had brought her to what she surmised was Cobra's command center. Although it was buried deep underground, Cobra wasted no time in erecting pristine white walls and a tile floor. One wall contained several video screens and their accompanying computer equipment. Two screens were blank. A third screen displayed a dark and grainy image with what looked like a person running back and forth. No doubt about it, this was the place. She rubbed at her forehead, bringing her hand down her shirt, brushing against the buttons of her shirt. Unnoticed to all but her, a small fleck tumbled to the ground. She smashed her hand on it, setting her rescue in motion.

Lady Jaye took her eyes away from the image and settled her sight on the Commander as he stepped into her periphery. She drew in a sharp intake of breath. The Commander laughed and clapped his hands together. "Yes my dear. Let's just cut to the chase shall we?" He clapped his hands twice more and she felt the crushing grips of Ripper and Buzzer around her arms, dragging her forward toward the one screen. Jaye struggled against them, but she was operating on less than full capacity. At a certain point one could only take so much. She had about reached that point. It was best to conserve her energy and strength for when she would really need it. She gave in, halting her resistance.

The Commander stepped up to the console and typed something on a keyboard. The two blank monitors snapped on displaying a sharp picture. Her eyes widened. It was the image from the third, what she thought was a person running back and forth. It wasn't. Not how she thought anyway. It was a person, a man, that much she could comprehend. What happened to the man, she didn't want to know. His face was so bloated and bruised, his eyes narrowed down to slits slashed into the flesh. Something was oozing out of his nose and mouth. His limbs were blown-up to twice their size, like sausages about to burst on the grill. He was in a cave of some sort, running back and forth, crashing himself into the walls. She had to look away; she knew what he was trying to do.

"Don't feel sorry for him Lady Jaye. He volunteered. We couldn't just send Mindbender's work out into the world without testing. Mindbender didn't quite have it this time." The Commander turned the screen off. "But we've since solved that little problem and I imagine that's what brings you here to us today." Cobra Commander walked up to her, cupped her chin in a gloved hand and squeezed as he lifted her face closer to his. "So now, I will ask you, how did you find us?" He closed his grip tighter.

Struggling against the pressure, she could feel the sharp pain well up in her head. Lady Jaye wanted to cry out but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of her weakness. _Remain strong, remain strong_. She needed to buy Flint and the team time. They would be here soon and then the whole thing would blow open. Until then the name of the game was survival. Usually she kept her mind occupied by conjugating verbs in German. It wasn't a pleasant task, German never was. What was it that Twain said? German was slipshod and systemless, slippery and elusive. In a word, it was awful. When you were trying to ignore the world around you, the awful German language was just the thing.

This time, she decided to take a different approach. Why add more pain to the mix when there were better things with which she could occupy her mind. She thought back to last night. That was more like it. A slap to her face took her back into the moment.

"I asked you a question. How did you find us?"

She fixed her gaze on the Commander. "Some people in the area noticed something fishy going on, or should I say slimy?"

"Insolence!" The Commander lashed out, slapping her face again.

She didn't back down. "Seems that these mines have been closed for some time and if you start dragging in heavy equipment and flashing your bright lights, you're going to get some attention. Get enough attention, and they just might call in the cavalry."

"Seems to me my dear that you can hardly be called the cavalry. Who else is with you?"

"You don't think I'm going to answer that now do you?" Lady Jaye was ready for the ensuing hit. "Come on Commander, isn't this getting a little old, hitting a defenseless woman?"

The Commander began to pace in front of her. "I'd hardly call you defenseless. Yes, I do believe you will answer my question." He stopped in front of her, roughly grabbing her chin and yanking it forward, "Now tell me agent Burnett, who is with you?"

Lady Jaye felt herself recoil at the sound of her last name. She tried to hide her shock, but he already saw the surprise in her eyes.

"Yes, agent Burnett, I know who you are. Don't be so surprised. I'll ask again, where are the others?"

Lady Jaye would never give up the position of her teammates. "It's just me."

The Commander's eyes narrowed. "You forgot that man you left all alone. He's not a Joe. Too bad he doesn't know about Zartan." She could feel the shaking as Buzzer and Ripper snickered behind her. "Yes, too bad for him indeed. I told Zartan to save the body." He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I don't think he listened."

Lady Jaye couldn't help herself and she pulled against her captors. "You're mad!"

The Commander let out a chuckle. "Why is it that all the great ones are always called mad?" He resumed his pacing, voice rising in intensity. "Why do you people always resort to the word mad? Is it mad to want to liberate the people and form a new world order? I offer an alternative to the governments that hold their people back. "

"Yeah some alternative you have there. Pain and death. Sign me up."

The Commander lashed out, striking a blow across her face. Lady Jaye winced, forcing her body to not recoil from him as he grew close. _Steady Alison, hold your ground._

"Please agent Burnett, you already have. You think the government you will die to serve and protect has clean hands? If history has taught us anything it's that those you serve would just as soon dispose of you like a bug should it best serve their needs. Join me and you will always be protected."

"Like the people you tried to kill on the Metro? Is that how you protect your own?"

"Sometimes a few must die to serve the greater good. You should know that. Aren't you willing to die to protect your teammates?" The Commander held up his hand. "That was a rhetorical question. I didn't try to kill anyone. The misfortune met by my soldiers was to ensure that no one would suffer any more than necessary. This world needs a kick to start it on the right path. What I gave those people was a wake-up call. If their precious government couldn't protect them during something as innocuous as their morning commute, perhaps they will open their eyes and realize all the ways in which their government will fail them. Then, and only then, will they realize all that we offer. That agent Burnett is not mad. That is . . ."

"Ambitious? I'll give you that. What about Michelle Parke? You just wanted to give her a wake-up call?"

"Ah, yes, Ms. Parke. No, Ms. Parke was another matter entirely."

"So you're trying to kill her? Are you using this place to try and kill others for unrelated matters?"

"So many questions you have. Join me and you'll have all the answers."

"No."

"Be that as it may. You will answer me. How did you find us and where are the others?"

* * *

The light emanating from Mainframe's wrist cast ghoulish shadows on the wall. It didn't bother Agent Miller. He felt strangely comforted by the darkness and seclusion of the mine tunnels. They were home and it felt good to be home. He didn't have anything to prove around here. He had what some would consider the misfortune of a very normal childhood with two supportive parents, one adoring little sister, and enough relatives to make any Sunday a party. Around here he was son, brother, uncle, cousin, friend. Back in DC life was a bit more complicated. There he always had something to prove. If not to Patterson, then to himself. For whatever reason, DC was the one place that put a chip on his shoulder. Here in the tunnels, there was no room for a chip. He liked that.

Miller's foot caught on a divot as the ground beneath took a sudden dip. He squinted up ahead, checking to make sure the two men in front were all right. They were. The two darkened masses ahead moved at a snail's pace over the suddenly rocky terrain. Shipwreck tripped into Miller, muttering an apology. Miller waved it off, instead concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other. He longed for longer legs. This was probably a lot easier for Flint than it was for him. Miller occasionally dreamed he was 8 feet tall and able to see over the world. Just once he wanted to know what it was like to have to duck. Now, it was the opposite. As Flint stepped over the obstacles, Miller was practically climbing them.

It was getting harder to navigate the rocky terrain. He paused a moment, letting Shipwreck catch up with him. Miller felt a little light-headed. He wasn't used to being in the field like the Joes were. He was more of a desk jockey, analyzing the data brought to him by others in the field. He shook it off, moving forward. For some reason his coordination was off. He tripped on another rock. Now this was starting to get embarrassing. If Shipwreck hadn't been having just as tough of a go of it as Miller, he'd seriously question his place on the strike team. And then it hit him. "Masks on, now!"

Miller snapped on his self rescuer just as he felt his pulse start to race and the blinding headache hit. He dropped to the ground, fumbling for the switch to start the airflow. Fighting against the dizziness, Miller held his breath as he waited for the oxygen. He crawled over to Shipwreck, positioning the sailor's mask over his sweaty face, trying to create a seal. Miller flicked the switch on Shipwreck's backpack and leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

_Damn_!The sloping ground should have warned him. The team had hit a patch of bad air or black damp. Every miner knew that coal absorbs oxygen and gives off carbon dioxide and water vapor. As the oxygen is absorbed out of the air and carbon dioxide is given off, it mixes with the nitrogen already in the air and forms black damp. Black damp is heavier than normal air and builds up in unventilated sections of a mine, like the section they were now occupying. It's strongest on the mine floor but could build up in a tunnel over time. Black damp can rapidly overcome the body, causing initial symptoms of oxygen deprivation easily mistaken for simple fatigue. Statistically, you had about six seconds to get yourself some good air once the fatigue became more than simple. If the warning signs were missed, your trip into the mine was a one-way ticket. _Double damn!_ Flint and Mainframe! Miller popped up to his feet. The darkened shapes were gone. He darted ahead, Shipwreck at his heels.

* * *

Lady Jaye remained silent, filing away all that the Commander had professed. The team might need the information later on. Recalling the Commander's desires, she couldn't help cracking a smile at the memory of Shipwreck singing "Everybody Wants to Rule the World." This was met with another backhand from the Commander. She rolled her eyes. It was time for Cobra to take a class on interrogation techniques. She didn't even have to escape into her thoughts of her night with Flint to last through this one.

"I see that I am boring you. Never fear, we shall try to make things more engaging for you." The Commander turned away from her. "Buzzer, take her back. We'll deal with her later. I'm sure her friend up top will tell us what we need to know. Regardless, have the others prepare for evac. Time to move factories."

Ripper and Buzzer started to haul her away, but not before the Commander shouted, "No, wait, bring her back." Squinting, the Commander tilted his head to the side as if inspecting produce at the grocery store. "Hmm, I don't know why I didn't think of it before. It's too perfect." He disappeared out of Lady Jaye's sight and returned, holding a thick pen in his hands.

Lady Jaye kept her gaze on the object in the Commander's hand. He approached her, holding the object like a knife. She bucked against her captors. She stomped on Ripper's foot while trying to drop to her knees and roll, anything to keep away. Ripper maintained his hold while Buzzer twisted her arm up behind her back. She cried out in pain, temporarily immobilized, her arm within the Commander's reach. She couldn't see it but she could hear the air displace as the Commander jabbed the pen into her arm. A loud shot echoed in the room and a jolt of piercing heat cut through her skin. She tried to reach up to rub the spot, but the Dreadnoks' grips on her were tighter.

"Oh god!" She felt the warmth spread up and down her arm, a heaviness settling down into her chest. Her heart began to beat faster and she suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She dropped her head down, pushing against the hands that held her. No doubt about it, it moved fast. A tingling sensation spread throughout her body and her lips felt numb. She glanced up into the cold, observant eyes of the Commander. He was starting to shimmer. Blinking fast, she struggled to clear the image. Everything was covered in a glossy sheen and blurry on the edges. The Commander's eyes smiled; she knew that look. "You bastard."

"Oh yes Lady Jaye, I am a bastard. And you my dear," he leaned in close, "are dead." His maniacal laughter filled her head as Buzzer and Ripper dragged her off. Her only hope was that Flint and the team would find her in time.


	23. Dashboard

**Chapter 23: Dashboard**

**1:30 p.m.**

**Somewhere outside Carbondale, PA**

Lady Jaye had no idea where she was anymore. Actually, that was a lazy thought. She knew generally where she was—somewhere below the surface of Pennsylvania—she just didn't have the specifics anymore. It felt like Ripper and Buzzer had dragged her through an endless progression of tunnels only to dump her off in her current location. At first she tried to count their steps. If she knew how much they walked, she could have some sense of place. Her mind wasn't up to the task and the numbers slipped away. Whatever the Commander hit her with, it worked fast. Already her body alternated between intense chills and scorching heat. She cracked a smile; after this, menopause would be a cakewalk. The smile faded as she wondered if she would ever get that old, a subject on which she was starting to have an opinion. Flint's words cut to the heart of her fear; this is a young man's game we play. He was right. They weren't the new recruits anymore. They were seasoned. And with experience came something more, perspective.

The chills returned and she curled up into a ball, wrapping her arms tight around her chest. Her muscles shuddered and her teeth chattered. It was as if Ripper and Buzzer dropped her into the middle of Antarctica with nothing more than a t-shirt to keep her warm, instead of some old storage room created by the carting away of coal over the years. It was hard contemplating lasting another hour if this kept up. Each wave was more intense than the last. She wondered if it was possible for someone to shake out of his skin. This attack was a jackhammer to her brain. She clenched her teeth together, riding out the storm until, at last, the shivering subsided and she had a moment to collect her thoughts.

She rolled onto her back, starring up through the darkness, exhausted. Bruised and beaten, she returned to her previous thoughts. Sometimes thinking was the only thing that could keep you alive. Once you started to lose your thoughts, you started to lose bits of yourself. At a certain point, you stopped being. Groaning, she struggled to push herself up. It was no use, her body was wrecked. Why fight it anymore? If Flint and his team didn't find her soon, she'd probably be dead, or worse. After Buzzer tossed her inside the storage room, Ripper let out a sinister laugh, "Don't worry, we'll be back my little Sheila. And when we do, you'll pay." She believed him.

A wave of nausea hit hard. There wasn't anything left but that didn't stop her from going through the motions. She pushed back to her knees, unsteady arms trembling under the weight of holding her torso up. Her stomach felt like it was ripped raw, the bile sickeningly sweet pooling in her mouth. Spitting it out, she collapsed, knowing that the fire would soon consume her. She stretched out, hugging the ground, waiting for the inevitable. It didn't disappoint.

Her body became saturated as the fire coursed through her veins, which would only make the chills worse when they attacked. The rocks scrapping her cheek offered little comfort at this point. The darkness was descending, calling to her. She couldn't even think why she was fighting anymore. She did her part. The tracker was set. J.T. would get Flint and his team close and she knew Flint would take it from there. They'd take down this operation and stop the Commander in his tracks. That was the important part—the mission. Anything else was secondary, including her. At this point she was almost a hindrance. If Flint should find her before the Commander, would he do the right thing? Her breathing started to grow shallow and her eyelids heavy. She could make sure he did.

_Come on Jaye, stay with me_. She fought against the stiffness in her neck and turned her head toward the voice. There he was, his face but a few inches away, Flint. He greeted her with that lopsided grin. It used to make her cringe because it only heralded the coming of an unwanted solicitation. Now she couldn't get enough. It was like a secret code between them. She closed her eyes and felt the chill of his fingertips against her cheek as he reached across the divide. She could get lost in this. She reached out and their hands clasped in the middle.

"_We've been in worst spots before._"

With her hair plastered to her head and sporadic convulsions rippling through her body, Lady Jaye was hard-pressed to think of any. No, nothing came to mind. She thought that she might rather like to sleep on it. Her body relaxed into the ground, eyes rolling up toward the sky.

Flint squeezed her hand, "_Jaye, stick it out._" He pulled her close as he began reciting her favorite verse, "_But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, and loved the sorrows of your changing face . . ._"

There wasn't much left to stick it out. Jaye could feel herself slipping. It wasn't unpleasant; rather, it was like falling straight into a dream. Flint's voice carried her on a blanket of clouds.

* * *

Agent Miller's foot caught the stiff edge of something and he went careening forward, face planting into the dirt. _Shit!_ The impact had dislodged his mask. He fumbled in the dark trying to reassert his authority over the flimsy plastic while holding his breath. He got the mask in place and swallowed a fresh breath of cool air. He felt a little lightheaded. That wasn't right. Inhaling deep, he removed the mask and found that the seal between the hose and the headgear had dislodged, allowing the outside air to seep in. He tried to pop the hose back in and succeeded in making a bad situation worse. The hose snapped back but the surrounding plastic cracked. _Worthless piece of . . ._ He resisted the urge to throw the mask to the ground and jump on it. While that would be a satisfying feeling considering his overall helplessness, he knew that even in a broken state, the mask was still better than the alternative. He fitted the mask back on his face. Slow, shallow breaths would have to see him through.

Pushing up to his knees, Miller turned around, grabbing at the lump he had tripped over. From the solidness of the mass, it had to be Flint. In the blackness, Miller lowered his head to Flint's chest, listening for anything that would signal life. His heart was still beating and there was a faint rattle of life struggling in his chest. Miller latched onto that, pushing and heaving the man over to his side, feeling around the outside of his pack for his self rescuer. It wasn't there. Miller panicked. Did it fall off somewhere? Maybe Flint stuck the mask in his pack even though the men were cautioned to keep it readily accessible? Miller zipped open Flint's pack, rummaging around, trying to locate the equipment. A spasm went through Flint's body. The tattletale rasp of Flint's breathing faded. Miller reached back and slammed his fists down into Flint's chest. "Keep breathing!"

Miller felt a tug at his shoulder; it was Shipwreck supporting a woozy Mainframe. Shipwreck pressed a button on the side of his mask and his muffled voice filled the space. "Mainframe's ok. What about boss man?"

Miller couldn't risk expelling any of the good air. He swiped his hand against his throat and pointed to his mask while shaking his head.

Luckily Shipwreck was a quick study and nodded once. Lowering Mainframe to the ground, he breathed in and detached his mask, stretching it toward Miller. Miller grabbed it and thrust it over Flint's mouth, praying he wasn't too late.

* * *

"Mr. Hill, it seems you're in a bit of a predicament."

"Well Charles, I reckon it might be more than a bit."

Charles chuckled. "I suppose you're right." He prodded J.T. with his gun. "When can we expect the full contingent?"

"Oww, dang nab it." J.T. forgot himself and reached down to rub the sore spot on the back of his head.

"Tsk tsk Mr. Hill." Charles rapped J.T.'s knuckles with the barrel, "Hands where I can see them."

"Owww, man!" J.T. grimaced as pain radiated across his hand. "This would be a lot easier if we could talk man to man. I mean, if you're gonna take me out, I'd prefer to look you in the eyes."

"Man to man?"

"Yeah, none of this pussy footing around."

"Point taken Mr. Hill. I will respect that. Turn around nice and slow."

J.T. shuffled his feet along in a half circle until he was finally face to face with Charles. He gasped. It wasn't Charles.

* * *

"Come on, breathe. Breathe!" Miller pressed Shipwreck's mask against Flint's face, keeping a nervous eye on the sailor, ready to hand it back should Shipwreck show any signs of dropping. So far so good for him, but not so good for Flint. Mainframe had managed to come around. Propped up against a boulder, Mainframe squeezed himself next to Flint, ready to make the switch. The light from the screen on Mainframe's wrist cast a greenish glow on the proceedings. Every few seconds it would black out and the group would be pitched back into the void, their insides tensing up until Mainframe brought the light once more.

Shipwreck tapped Miller's shoulder and Miller passed the mask back while Mainframe placed his upon Flint's face. Unfortunately Mainframe still wasn't up to fighting speed. He lasted only enough time for Shipwreck to take a few drags off the mask before giving it over to Flint. Miller sensed that Flint, while physically present, wasn't really with them. He needed to be dragged back screaming and kicking from wherever he had retreated in the fog. Given the condition of the group, Miller couldn't chance moving Flint until he could offer some assistance no matter how feeble. Mainframe was still pretty weak and Shipwreck was running on reserves. His cracked mask put him at a disadvantage. He knew the military had a name for this type of situation. He'd have to ask them when all was said and done.

"St . . . ay . . ." Flint's mumbling took shape.

Miller leaned close to his ear. "Come on buddy, give up the ghost, concentrate."

Flint mumbled a few more words that Miller couldn't make out. Then, without warning, Flint's eyes snapped open as he sucked in a great huff of air. Flint didn't register where he was and his arms flailed about as he tried to push the mask away from his face. He bucked against Miller's reassuring hands. Shipwreck threw himself on to Flint, pinning the man's arms to his side. He couldn't wait to tease Flint about this one. Oh, the fun he would have. Flint wiggled his body about, but Mainframe got in his face. "Easy Flint. You're with us. We hit black damp. You passed out. Breathe through the mask. Relax. You're ok."

Mainframe nudged Miller aside and, holding the mask in place on Flint's face, pointed to his. "Just breathe. In and out, relax." Flint nodded his head, eyes still wide. "Good, just like you're doing." Shipwreck flapped an arm out. "OK, we need to switch masks. We can't find yours. Here, take mine in 3, 2, 1." Shipwreck grabbed his mask as Flint started to inhale. Flint began to choke on the sudden absence of air. Mainframe was there, slipping his mask over Flint's mouth and nose even though he didn't have enough time to get his lungs prepared. He would hold on though. Mainframe would burn a lung getting Flint through this for Lady Jaye. The warrant officer probably didn't realize it, but the moment he got serious about Lady Jaye, his status rose with the geek squad. Sure Flint was an ego. If Jaye was crushing on him though, there had to be some substance behind the pageantry.

At first, Mainframe questioned his friend's sanity. How she could ever think of Flint that way was beyond him. Flint was not one of them; Flint was the cool kid. Not to say Jaye wasn't one herself. She was. She was also one of them. She made an effort to get to know Mainframe, and the rest of the geek squad, on their home turf. Namely, that meant suffering through their bi-monthly RPG nights to play the token female part. Sometimes you had to blow off steam. Mainframe, Dialtone, Tripwire, and Scoop found a shared hobby in Dungeons & Dragons. Once they started, other closet geeks soon joined the fray. Who knew that Chuckles made a really good Dungeon Master? After a year, they had a decent sized group with people coming in and out as schedules allowed.

One night, Mainframe couldn't keep Jaye away; she just had to know what he and Ripcord were up to on a Wednesday night without her. At first, the guys were a bit embarrassed. It was like trying to woo the prom queen and she walked in on you while you were in the bathroom with your pants down around your ankles. Jaye didn't make fun. Instead, she kind of made this weird coughing sound low in her throat, nodded her head once, and declared she was game. Once she was in, she was in. Mainframe forgot what a great actress she was. She could bring any woods to life as the elven queen. For Christmas just last year, she had commissioned new figures for all the fellows.

Lady Jaye was one of them so the whole Flint thing was kind of out of left field. Mainframe could see the attraction. He was a good-looking guy with a lot of charisma. Still, the fact that he let you know that he knew he was good-looking guy should have been enough to turn off Jaye. Sure, she acted like she couldn't stand the man. Mainframe knew better. Her casual mentions of him started increasing and he and Ripcord knew; she was hooked. Mainframe likened the whole potential relationship to Gambit and Rogue. It was just something that was meant to be. Dialtone disagreed as a matter of principle; he was a DC man and wouldn't get near an X-Men title. Whatever the case, the guys all felt that they owed it to her to keep tabs on Flint and ensure his well-being. While Flint may not know it, he was a full-fledged member of the geek squad now.

As a secret member of the geek squad, Mainframe would get him through. Maintaining eye contact, Mainframe held his mask against Flint's face despite the burning sensation in his own lungs. Mainframe felt like he was going to pass out and his head wobbled a bit. Miller stepped in, handing his own mask to Mainframe. Soon it almost became a joke of who was on first with whose mask as the connecting hoses tangled into a misshapen mess. Flint was coming around and he reached up, grabbing Mainframe's hand in a strong grip. No words needed to be said. The gratitude in Flint's eyes was enough.

* * *

J.T. blinked a few times, trying to focus and reconcile the image before him. It was Charles but it wasn't. The voice was Charles, but the face, J.T. didn't know what the face was. The man standing before him didn't really have a face. It kept morphing and changing so that J.T. didn't have a good read. All the better for him to slip away. J.T. had to admire that.

Up to that point, it had been a fairly overcast day, with the clouds hanging low, blanketing the sky. The weather patterns were changing and a slight breeze kicked up, blowing softly against J.T.'s face, rustling the strands of hair on his head. Though only faint, it was enough to push the clouds along their path and open up a patch of sky for the sunlight to stream through. This unexpected light hit Charles straight in the face and he raised up an arm, shielding his eyes from the glare. J.T. observed dumfounded as Charles's face swirled around and dark brown triangular patches appeared around his eyes and his skin took on a bluish hue. Charles took a step back and J.T. found his opening.

Interlacing his fingers, J.T. raised his arms and then brought them down in a sharp sweep against the side of Charles's head. Charles took the full brunt of the blow, and staggered back, dazed. The breeze kicked up and the clouds seemingly departed, the light raining down like judgment. J.T. took this as a sign of divine providence and opened up on the crouching figure. Throwing his weight behind every punch, J.T. aimed for the midsection, never stopping, never retreating. He knew the moment he even so much as thought about resting, he would lose. There was something mighty strange about the man he was pummeling. J.T. had no idea what it was, only that it wasn't good. In this game, good and evil were about all J.T. had. J.T. was good; this man was evil. Good was going to triumph. J.T. kicked out, connecting a solid boot with Charles's chin. J.T. didn't wait to see what would happen. He followed through with a nose-crushing right hook. Down went Charles, blood flowing from his nose to the dusty ground.

J.T. stumbled a few steps back, leaning into the truck for support. Panting, he waited for his heart to stop racing. It had been awhile since he had to defend himself. He grinned. "Well, this here Texan still has it." It was a fleeting thought as he turned to the task at hand, flicking the switch that brought his monitors back to life with a roar. As the maps popped back up and the little dots representing the key players began to blink, J.T. did not like what he saw. Screw silence. He grabbed his microphone. "Mainframe! Back up and get the hell out of there! That tunnel's no good!"

A/N: Sorry for the delay- went on vacation. Back now and finishing up the last few chapters. Thanks for reading and for the reviews! Hope you enjoy the rest.


	24. December's Traditions

**Chapter 24: December's Traditions**

**1:50 p.m.**

**Somewhere outside Carbondale, PA**

"Get the hell out of there!"

Mainframe, slumped against a rocky wall, raised an eyebrow and let out a half-hearted snort. "Hey guys, J.T. says we should get the hell out of there."

"Ha." Shipwreck wrinkled up his face in a wry grin, "Little late to the party."

Miller smiled. Despite the difficulties and the unfamiliarity of this assignment, he was liking this group of guys and the camaraderie that field work seemed to bring. It was making him think about his career and what he wanted for the future. Maybe life wasn't best lived behind a desk. It wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility to work with Herrera for a while. Just to get a feel for things. Looking around though, right now probably wasn't the time to make a major life decision to embark on a new career trajectory. He wouldn't abandon it outright; just file it away for a later day. For now, his focus was on the mission and bringing everyone home.

Mainframe switched his microphone on. "We kind of figured that one out." His declaration was met by a torrent of follow-ups from J.T. Mainframe looked up at the group. "J.T. wants to know if we're ok?"

"Just peachy." Shipwreck remarked while Miller held up his thumbs. Flint nodded once, leaning his head back against the cold stone. He zoned out while Mainframe discussed the next move with J.T. After they had stabilized Flint, the team had backtracked to the original fork in the tunnel. Now that they were in the clear, it was _clear_ that the circuitous route was the best.

Mainframe inched over toward Flint, passing him the map glasses. Once Flint had them on, Mainframe began relaying J.T.'s advice. "See there, where it looks like the other tunnel ends? There's an access panel on the right into an old auxiliary shaft. That shaft takes us over an old processing room and then down into the tunnel there. The tunnel should feed us behind an office that was set up. That blinking light in the middle is Jaye's tracker."

Flint followed the electric grid, memorizing the route. He could see how Mainframe made his earlier decision. While he wasn't happy about the time lost, he'd never blame the techie. Mainframe did what he needed to do with the information at his disposal. If Flint blamed someone, which he did, it was himself. He was pressing too hard and too fast. He didn't give Mainframe time to think. In his haste to reconnect with Lady Jaye he got too sloppy. Sloppy got you killed. Flint passed the glasses back to Mainframe, nodding his approval. Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the banter of his teammates. The mention of Jaye triggered something uneasy in him. Compartmentalizing his thoughts, he was quick to pin down the expected feelings. Blame and guilt, those were obvious. Blame for his actions and guilt for the root cause. The uneasiness he felt, it wasn't that. Smile, the word smiled with you, guilt you carried alone, always alone.

Except for now. He wasn't alone, not really. Alison, he had Alison. With Alison he could share. She'd listen. She wouldn't judge. Not about this. Then why did he feel as if something was digging into his gut, rooting around to find a home? It was an indescribable thing circling around his head, fluttering on the edges of his thoughts, just there in the shadows evading focus. Something was off and it wasn't what happened. Flint rocked back and forth trying to jar the thoughts loose. What was it? What was it? He thumped a fist against his forehead. It wasn't a what; it was a who, an important who.

Alison.

Lady Jaye.

Trouble.

He knew she was in trouble. "Jaye!" His sudden outburst quieted the group and all eyes turned toward him. He had the podium. "I know this sounds crazy, but when I was out, I got the sense that something was wrong. I can't shake this feeling that something went bad for her."

While Miller gave Flint a puzzled look, Mainframe didn't question Flint's knowledge. After all, Gambit would know when something wasn't right with Rogue. Of course Flint would know when Jaye was in trouble. It was elementary. Mainframe's instinct was confirmed by more chatter from J.T. "Um, guys, more news. Jaye's not with the tracker. J.T can't get a read on exactly where she is."

"What do you mean exactly where she is?" Flint's eyes burned dark.

"Her signal's coming from a part of the mines for which J.T. doesn't have the schematics. He has a signal but not a way to get us there."

"If we find a way, can he a least tell us if we're close?" Flint pushed off the ground and started to stretch his weary muscles.

"Yeah, I'm sure he could."

"All right then, suit up everybody." Flint stood before the proverbial fork in the road. "Time to hit the road less traveled."

* * *

A shadowed figure roamed the dark, dank tunnels of the mine. Ducking every so often to avoid a jagged outcrop, he bobbed and weaved, solely focused on his destination. If the old miner had been correct, it should be close, very close. He was thankful for his run-in with that old miner. Otherwise things would be a bit more complicated. As it was, his journey was complicated enough.

Counting openings, he dragged a gloved hand along the wall until he came to number five. This was it; turn right here. He stumbled on the uneven ground. The walls narrowed and he scrapped his head on the ceiling. He clenched his fists, if that old man set him on the wrong path, he'd pay with his life. He'd make it his mission to hunt him down and feed him to the wolves. He was not a man with whom one trifled. Luckily for the old miner, after a few more steps, the tunnel gradually opened up, giving the man some relief. He didn't like confined spaces.

As he walked through the latest tunnel, he was slightly surprised that he hadn't been jumped by now. He did not wish to engage in an encounter. In fact, he had taken great pains to make sure that his presence went by unnoticed. Still, given his proximity to the operation's heart, there should be more security roaming about. "Getting soft Commander," he muttered under his breath. It was more likely that the Commander was spread too thin. The man shuddered at the images flashing in his head. The Commander had only himself to blame for his reduction in forces. It was no way to run an organization. If he hadn't the desire to make his break, this only confirmed his decision. To think, this all went on without his knowledge. The Commander was learning.

At last, he came to the door. It was a massive piece of wood sunk into the stone wall and it groaned as he pushed against it. His muscles strained as he threw his back into the endeavor, fighting for every inch. The door screeched in protest, rebelling against his command. It would show him; it would not do the one thing for which it was designed. He cursed the inanimate object as if it had personally insulted his honor. He would open this door. Dipping deep into his reserves, he gritted his teeth and placed both hands on its rough surface, spread apart, even with his shoulders. There were two subtle indentations that fit the shape of his hands perfectly. The side of his mouth raised up knowing others had come before to face against this wooden beast. He would triumph. With a barbaric grunt, he launched himself headlong and didn't stop until the door dragged along the stone, hitched once and finally swung open, slamming into the wall behind it.

The force of the impact jarred him, sending him reeling a few steps back. He was there. He was in. He narrowed his eyes, adjusting them to the din. It was a small forgotten room in a forgotten place. It no doubt once served as a place of respite for a cold drink and a bit of bread. What ever it was before was long gone. Now it was bare and unwelcoming. Accustomed to the dark, he saw what he came for.

* * *

Miller squeezed his eyes shut, praying to erase the images from his mind. That previous thought he had about joining Herrera in the field? Miller took it back, all of it. He would happily spend the rest of his remaining career up until the day of retirement sitting behind a desk if only for the chance to erase the images from his mind. _The bodies, oh god, the bodies_. He wanted to scream, to shriek in the most undignified way possible. He rubbed his eyes trying to scrub the images away. How did they handle it? His back was pressed up against the metal shaft, shaking, unable to retreat. And yet Flint and Mainframe were peering out the vent, taking verbal notes on the scene below.

The auxiliary shaft had indeed been the ticket to the heart of Cobra's operations. The shaft was less of a side tunnel, as Miller had pictured in his head, and more of a system of ducts, large enough to transport bins. The rails sunk into the bottom of the shaft were murder on hands and knees. Miller's palms were all scraped up and his pants were beyond saving, with the knees all ripped and caked with dirt and oil. The team crawled along, Mainframe pinpointing their location with J.T.'s guidance. J.T. wouldn't tell them what interfered with him before. He just reassured that it wasn't happening again. The shaft split and J.T. navigated the team to the left where the tunnel curved up into a steep incline. The rails served as a sort of ladder and soon the team was crawling above the ceiling, a vent here and there forecasting their infiltration of the lion's den.

Then it happened. There was a broken fan and a larger than average opening. "Oh lord," was all Mainframe choked out. Miller edged up, instantly regretting the decision. Spread out on the ground below were bodies, hundreds of bodies in various states of decay. Black plastic body bags contained some, but not all, not nearly enough for Miller. All the faces had the same agonizing look. It was fear, dismay, and the knowledge that they would never be saved. Some had visible signs of the flu, ruddy noses, sunken eyes, pale cheeks, victims of some force greater than their will. Others—that was where Miller broke down—the others controlled their end. One man still clutched the hammer in his hand covered with bits and pieces of hair and matter. Another had clumps of his hair scattered around his body and clenched in his hands. This was what Cobra did. Miller scampered away as much as he could in the confined space, grabbing his belly, willing himself not to lose his lunch.

Shipwreck pulled away from the fan grating, putting a hand on Miller's shoulder, "Work it out man. It's ok. Work it out. Think of something else. Mellow beach, hot women. Anything else."

"How do you do it?" Miller's voice came out in hurried gasps as he looked at Shipwreck with perspiration trickling down his forehead. Miller had lost all of his color. His skin was glowing in the dark.

"You just do." Shipwreck glanced over at Mainframe and Flint. "We do so that doesn't happen to anyone else." Shipwreck squeezed Miller's shoulder. "You think you'll be ok?"

Miller wiped at his forehead, knowing that his thoughts would never be clean again. He shook his head up and down, unable to speak.

Shipwreck turned back toward Flint and Mainframe, bobbing his head once.

Mainframe and Flint pulled back from the view. "Tell J.T. The FBI needs to know about this. We're close, have him call in backup. We're going to need a biohazard unit to clean this up." Flint steeled his jaw. He watched as Cobra personnel worked to stack the bodies up on pallets and covered them with tarps. They were cleaning up and soon would try to erase their tracks. This was worse than Flint could have imagined. This is what could have been. How many people did Mindbender sacrifice? It was sickening. They used their own people. Each body wore the blue uniform of the Cobra foot soldier. That nagging feeling returned. He had to get to Jaye.

Mainframe called it in and the strike team continued in silence. The stakes were so much higher now. The shaft began a rickety descent and, if J.T. was right, the main action would be just ahead. Flint unscrewed the vent and the team gathered in the space between the rock and the particleboard of Cobra's Command Center. Plastering their bodies up against the rock, they edged over in a silent mass until they came to a break in the wall. Peering through the crack, Flint counted the armed soldiers and noted their locations. No sign of Jaye. He didn't like that. He sized up flanking positions and moved Shipwreck around. Once they pushed through the wall, there would a momentary scramble for cover, and then the fight would begin. Surprise was going to see them through. Pulling out his shotgun he flashed a few hand signals and the rest of the team armed. Breathing in through his nose, Flint expelled the breath through his mouth, yelling "Now!"

Cobra didn't know what hit it. Suddenly the Command room was bathed in smoke and flashing lights, thanks to a few treats provided by Joseph. Normal grenades wouldn't do when cave-ins and flammable gases lay in wait. The team had to improvise. Although there was just four, to those present in the room, it seemed like a screaming horde of barbarian invaders was streaming over the castle walls. Shipwreck flipped a table and ducked behind it, laying down a cover of suppression fire to get Mainframe close to the computer terminals. Flint plowed down the center, his eyes locked on the Commander. If anyone knew where Jaye was, he would. He'd make the man bleed for her.

"Flint!"

Flint dropped down and rolled at the sound of Miller yelling his name. Bullets pinged in the air, drilling holes into the wall and up to the ceiling. A Cobra trooper's finger was pressing lead against the trigger.

"No, you fool!" The Commander screamed. "You'll send us all to kingdom come." The Commander pulled out his pistol and shot the trooper dead center between his eyes. The man fell backward, his gun still firing off. The shots bounced off the ceiling, spraying into the battle below.

"Damn!" Miller felt a sharp prick in his shoulder. Looking down, an unfamiliar red stain slowly began to saturate his shirt. "Well I'll be." He felt disconnected from his body, a spectator on the outside. He smirked. He was shot. The desk jockey just took a bullet. He wanted to shout it out to the world, _look at me! I'm a man!_ He reached over, pressing the wound with his other hand. The pain jabbed back. "Ouch!" He wasn't expecting that. Although, never having been shot before, it wasn't as if he had any first hand knowledge on what it would feel like. Granted, he was an FBI agent, a _special_ agent, and he had all the proper training. All the proper training in the world didn't come close to the actual, real world experience. It felt like a good time for a beer. He'd be damned, he was shot. He couldn't wait to tell Patterson. The battle raged around him but he remained in a protective cocoon, an impervious bubble sheltering him from further harm. Glancing up, he watched the remaining bullets soar as the fallen trooper's gun emptied out. These bullets weren't bouncing back. They were plowing into the ceiling, digging out a crack. The crack widened. Miller observed. Bits of black powder fell down, coating some of the floor. Drifting over, Miller stepped around a broken chair, crouched down and rubbed his fingers in the black. He held them up, sniffing at the substance, tasting it with his tongue. It was very familiar. A sinking feeling hit his chest, his moment of glory was over. Why did it have to be him? Why was he always the harbinger of doom? "Run, everyone! Run! Coal seam breach!" The sound of his voice echoing in his ears snapped him out of his daze. He picked up his legs and dashed over to Shipwreck, pulling at the man. "We have to get out of here. Coal is going to explode!"

"What?" Shipwreck noticed the wound. "Miller, man . . . you . . ."

Miller yanked Shipwreck to his feet. "No time, this place is going up."

Shipwreck followed the line from Miller's pointing finger to the faint orange glow gleaming from the crack in the ceiling. "Bawdy beef-witted barnacles!" Catching Flint's eye, "Run!"

The men scrambled for the exits, putting as much territory between them and the room. When the boom came, it came hard.


	25. I Will Steal You Back

**Chapter 25: I Will Steal You Back **

**2:10 p.m.**

**Somewhere outside Carbondale, PA**

Another acting trick is to always have a home base in your head. Especially popular with method actors, the theory is that if you submerse yourself in a character, you might lose yourself in the process. Even if you are intentionally being someone else, you still can't forget you and everything that makes you a unique individual. This is what gives you perspective and the ability to be someone else. During one method acting workshop Lady Jaye attended, the flighty Age of Aquarius teacher instructed the students to picture their favorite spot and then create as realistic of a model in their head as they were able. It was to be a lifetime project. As time progressed and priorities shifted, that place in your head should be malleable to suit your needs. A bright blue sky may shift to the golden hues of sunset. What was most important was to create the space. Once you had a space, you were free to redecorate at whim.

Lady Jaye's retreat had always been her family's house on the Vineyard. At first it was the home of her summers, with a bright sun glowing above and the grainy sand slipping over her feet. She was at the water's edge, sinking her toes into the mushy muck, a seashell held up to her ear. As her life changed, so did the scene tucked away in her head. She found the beach too open, too exposed. There was more solace in the late evenings nestled in her bed just underneath the window, the sounds of the waves crashing into the rocks lulling her to sleep. At this point in her life, she wasn't using the exercise to save herself from some rampant character; she was using it to save her mind from the externalities threatening to break it.

Lady Jaye retreated to her place away from the pain. Perhaps the Commander was right; she would die here. If so, it would be the place of her choosing, the place that was home, not this chilly dungeon. She focused, drifting in and out of reality, trying to make the imaginary concrete. One moment she could feel the hard ground digging into her back, the next she was cradled up in her plush cotton comforter. She clung to the comforter, pulling it up around her, holding on tight.

She shivered, the nighttime air crisp and cool, smelling of salt and sea. She felt her father's touch. His fingers grazed her forehead and pushed damp, sticky hair out of its way. Despite being a businessman, his hands were thick and calloused from working in the garage. He liked to build things like sheds and bird houses. He used to say that there was nothing better than seeing the tangible results of your own work. There was always pride to be had in something you created with your two hands. She loved the feel of his hands. They were rough and scratchy yet they were one of the gentlest touches she had ever known. He sat down on the bed, easing her up into his lap, his arms supporting her. She relaxed and felt herself starting to let go. She could sleep, at last.

"Stay awake." His voice was deeper than she remembered. Her eyelids were heavy, oh so heavy. Each eyelash had a little weight tied to it. They were bringing her down, down into the silence.

He shook her with some force. "Don't fall asleep."

From somewhere a hand slapped her cheek. She couldn't even lift her hand to stifle the blow. Her head bounced with the recoil, eyes snapping wide open. Her father's face shimmered in the fog. It was a bright beacon around which the darkness was kept at bay. Smooth and shiny, she reached a hand up to touch it. His cheek was hard, much too hard. Using up the last of her strength, she narrowed her eyes and focused, concentrating on the spot where her fingers met his skin. She tapped his cheek a few times and knew—it wasn't skin. Her hand dropped and she took in a sharp intake of air. Brain screaming, she was helpless to move. Trapped she could only watch as whatever happened, happened.

"I am not here to hurt you." The voice was a sharp baritone. Her father's voice had never had that edge to it.

"Destro?"

"Yes." The edge from his voice was gone, replaced by something she would otherwise recognize as compassion. Except it was coming from Destro. It made no sense. There could be no compassion. He was Destro.

"How . . .?" She felt so tired.

He propped her up a little higher, cradling her body against his chest. "We seem to have a mutual acquaintance."

"I don't . . . I don't . . . understand."

"Suffice to say, I believe the Commander has gone too far. He's playing with forces he cannot control and he will bring greater harm then he realizes. On this front, he must be stopped."

"I thought you were done with him."

"I realize I said I was through with the Commander, but sometimes it takes time to put ones affairs in order."

"Are you helping him?"

"No." His reply was brusque. "This is not something that Mars would ever sanction. There is no honor in the Commander's choice. My father refused to get involved with Agent Orange in Vietnam and my grandfather lobbied against the use of gas in the trenches. Weapons have their place. But these are not weapons to ever be employed by man. They are for cowards. Like you, I'm trying to stop the Commander before this gets beyond his control."

"Oh . . ." Lady Jaye's eyes drifted to half mast as she felt herself begin to fade away. The few sentences she managed to mutter were enough to deplete her reserves. It was time to sleep now. Reality lost its hold.

"No. Stay with me." Destro shook her. It did no good. Her head slumped off to the side, her eyes rolling up into her head, vacant. She wasn't with him anymore in that cold place. She was home in her room, safe in her father's arms. "No." Destro grew frantic. He looked up at the ceiling, eyes hollow, mouth grim. "I'm sorry James."

He turned his attention back to Jaye, reaching into a pouch on his belt and pulling out a syringe. Squinting, he held the syringe vertical, squeezing out a small amount of the liquid inside. He laid her down on the ground, rolling up the sleeve of the brown button-down, wincing at the crusted wound left by the Commander. He cursed himself for forgetting to bring along a flashlight. It was too easy these days to rely upon his grenadiers to anticipate his needs. It was time to relearn how to be more self-sufficient. Fortunately, it was a subcutaneous injection and he didn't have to worry about searching for a vein. In one swift motion, he jabbed her with the needle and pushed the plunger down, dispensing the liquid under her skin. It would be a few minutes before what he hoped would be the expected effect. He held his breath, observing, praying. He couldn't help to think that she didn't look like any of them; she was a splitting image of her mother. That was a good thing.

Her eyes fluttered open as the medicine began its work, the heat stealing down her arms and shooting around her chest. "I think I'm going to be sick." Destro helped her roll over where she dry-heaved. "Oh man." She pushed herself up, wiping away the sweat forming on her brow. Suddenly she felt like she was on fire and her mouth was parched. Whatever Destro had given her was coursing through her veins fighting for supremacy. There was a faint ringing in her ears and a slight dizziness. "I don't feel so well."

Destro reached forward, pulling her back into him, giving her a moment to rest. He wrapped an arm around her while he pushed the hair away from her face with tender strokes. She gave in and allowed herself to melt beside him. Even the coldness of his mask felt refreshing against her neck. She was hot, burning really. He was cool, almost cold, and comfortable. He felt like a familiar blanket. Destro reached around her and handed over a black pouch. "Inside are five more syringes. Two more for you, three for Ms. Parke. I'm told three injections of this will suffice. It should be about every two hours." He paused. "It was all I could obtain."

She took the pouch. It was as if she was watching someone else take control of her body. Her mind was split in two. Part of her was on autopilot, doing what needed to be done for survival, the other was hidden away, managing the hurt. "What's going to happen?"

"It will counteract Mindbender's concoction. Mindbender is working on a super virus. Right now he's having problems with stabilization. He can't get it to live outside of a host. You can't spread it, but it will spread through you. This serum fights it at a molecular level. You must be careful. Too much at once will be worse than what Mindbender did; it will kill good cells as well. Too little, and Minderbender's virus will overcome it. You need the right amount at spaced intervals. Right now your body is responding and fighting. It won't last for long. You need to get out and get help before you become too dehydrated, an unfortunate side-effect of the remedy." Destro shook his head. "This is not for the Commander."

She had to ask that one last question. "Why are you helping me?"

"I made a promise long ago."

"What . . ." A loud boom echoed through the stone and the room quaked. Fragments of the ceiling came raining down on their heads. Without thought, Destro threw his body over Jaye's shielding her from the worst. She clung to him, burying her face in his chest. She was overcome with an oddly familiar sensation. Up until now, the closest she had ever come to physical contact with the man was when he took her hand and placed upon it a kiss. She had thought it was a chivalrous move, Flint had thought otherwise. That one kiss hadn't been enough to leave any kind of lasting mark on her. Or at least it shouldn't have. Strange that she would get comfort from him now. He was saving her life. Perhaps that was enough.

"Here, get up." Destro pulled her up on shaky legs. She grabbed him for support as her body adjusted to the rush of blood. Another boom shook the room. Destro wrapped his arms around her, escorting her toward the hallway.

"Wait." She pulled back. "What's going to happen to you if they see you with me?"

"I don't think we have time to worry about that."

"No," she pulled her arm out from his grasp, "we do." Straightening up, she inhaled a deep breath, slowly letting it out. "You can't let them see you with me. I can get out. You need to go."

"Out of the question."

Lady Jaye longed for the pounding in her head to go away. There was a vice wrapped around her skull, squeezing it all together. She desperately needed her wits about her. _Damn you Mindbender_. She thought of another angle. "It's going to be worse if I'm with you, for both of us. I'll have to explain."

Destro considered this rationale and reluctantly agreed. "Fine. Find your friends and get to the surface." At that moment, Lady Jaye realized how truly freaky it was that he could exude such subtle emotions through that metal mask and make her feel something. Destro reached his hand out almost as if to caress her cheek. He stopped in midair, withdrawing it back, fist clenched. "Avoid the main tunnels if you can." He turned and slipped out of the room, leaving Lady Jaye alone.

Two more booms followed in succession and the force pitched Jaye to the ground. She was starting to think splitting up from Destro wasn't such a hot idea. Grabbing the door frame with her right hand and clutching the pouch in her left, she steadied herself and peaked out into the hallway. Deserted. It looked like Cobra Commander's acolytes made the smart decision to save their own hides. Wandering into the hallway, she tried to figure out her next move. An explosion from above rang in her ears. "Hold it up Flint, not the best place in the world for a firefight." She was answered with another explosion. A large chunk of the ceiling in the room where she had just been fell, landing with crash, the displaced air picking up her body and slamming it into the far wall.

She sunk to the ground, head ringing like a Mahler symphony. Her vision was foggy and she blinked several times trying to focus. The ringing in her ears turned into a siren. She reached up feeling a face that was only made worse. _Great, just great_. Chalk up another few weeks of having to sport sunglasses everywhere. She wasn't a vain person, but still, give a girl a break. It wasn't as if she didn't care; she really tried to make an effort. The thought caused her to giggle. Who was she trying to impress? Flint would understand. She let out an exasperated breath. Flint. Some would say if he still liked her after this, it was real. She shook the dust out of her hair and wiped the dirt off her face. _Oh no!_

It hit her like a bolt of lightning—she used both hands. _Oh no, please no, please let it be there!_ She scrambled around in the debris, feeling for Destro's pouch. Reaching down, she sighed in relief as her fingers found it. But then she knew. _Oh no!_ The pouch was saturated. Fumbling in the dark, she ripped it open. Inside, one of the syringes had shattered, leaving only four. _Not good at all_. Her mind went into overdrive. With four left there would still be two more for her, but only two for Parke. Then she really thought about it. No way was Parke getting all of the medicine. If she took two, it really meant there would only be one for Parke. When Destro said it was all he could acquire, it wasn't a factual statement, it was an apology. Surely he would know as much as Jaye was now realizing that the CDC wouldn't let this go. They would claim at least one for research and reverse engineering. To have a cure and not try to replicate it? No way, no how. That wasn't how the game was played. If Parke even got one would be pressing that woman's luck. They may even let her go just to find out what happened. The symphony in her head subsided and Jaye eased up to her feet. She rested against the wall for a moment, pulling herself together and preparing for her part. Flint wouldn't be happy—she had promised him after all—but it was the right thing to do, it was the only thing to do. She had made another promise though. That trumped everything. Parke would get better, she would hold out for the CDC. Breathing deep, it was just another acting job. She walked forward on shaky legs but the way was blocked by fallen rocks. She turned around and made it to the other end of the tunnel—blocked. She sunk to the ground, head in her hands. She wouldn't be keeping any promises today.


End file.
